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Among the wilds of America, before the form- 
ing hand of civilization had. constructed to a 
great degree its works of art and fashioned the 
boundless wilderness into fields of horticultural 
beauty — before the wigwam fire had ceased its 
curling flight among the mighty branches of 
the spreading forest, and rude barbarianism 
had concealed itself, in the dying embers of 
the past, that we would call the attention of 
our readers. 

A few settlers, who had left their homeborn 
soil, encountered the buffetings of the pitiless 
storm upon the trackless waste of the ocean, 
had by their united efforts succeeded in felling 
the sturdy oaks, and clearing about themselves 
a spot of ground, sufficient to raise their sus- 
tenance, in this northern portion of the wester! 

The spring had in its progress approached. 
Loosening the frost-bound earth from ths 
strong fetters, that in the period of thre« 
months, by alternate thaws and. repeated 
storms, winter had forged with its icy hand; 


and their almost unyielding durability, began, 
as the frigid air of heaven diffused itself over 
the earth in milder and warmer breezes, to 
flow in liquid torrents down from the mountain 
heights. This reaction of nature threw life and 
gaiety on all animate and inanimate objects ; 
and the fields and meadows, divested of their 
white attire, although barren and frost-bitten, 
presented a more cheering aspect. Yet, as is 
often the case, the freezing blasts of the chilly 
north would frequently return, in the struggling 
of the milder season to gain the ascendancy 
over the frigidity of the other, accompanied 
with its train or attachments, clouds which 
would intercept the rays of the sun, causing 
the gloomy effects which followed to be 
doubly insupportable, and more dreary than 

After some weeks the contest seemed de- 
cided, and more settled weather became the 
natural consequence, which brought forth the 
inhabitants of the country upon their hus- 
bandry business for the season, and others of 
the villagers who could well afford the time 
for sport and pleasure. 

It was now at the opening of the month of 
April, and the vegetable kingdom was issuing 
out, quickened by the warm showers, from 
their beds of concealment to beautify and 
gladden the earth. The merry songsters of the 
morn and evening had returned from their 
southern flight, and were fast peopling the 
groves and filling the air and ear with their 
notes of rejoicing. 

It was an evening in the year 17—, when 


the day preceding had been remarkably fine, 
and the warm influence of the sun, which had. 
set, still lingered in the twilight air, refreshing, 
the senses with an ethereal mildness. Tn the- 
State of Vermont, upon a road which was in con- 
stant use at that time, but now out of service, 
leading to what has become the metropolis of 
the State, might, on this evening mentioned, 
be seen, wending their way at a moderate 
pace, two travellers, in the persons of a female- 
and a lad about fourteen years old. They 
evidently had seen better days than their im- 
poverished condition now discovered them, for 
their garments were, though somewhat worn, 
of rich materials. The lady was extremely 
good-looking, and by the resemblance the lad 
bore her, indicated him to be her son. She- 
was about twenty-five years of age, though 
perhaps, but for the sorrowful cast upon her 
countenance, shewouldhave appeared younger. 
There was something in the appearance of 
both that at once excited pity and curiosity. 
They were foreigners no doubt, and perhaps 
been driven by the reverses of fortune to seek 
their bread in a distant land. The grief -worn, 
cheek of the young woman gave evidence of 
this, that many troubles had afflicted her. 

As they journeyed along, they frequently 
stopped to rest themselves, and the frequency 
of this increased as the day declined and their 
strength overcome with fatigue by the uneven- 
ness of the soil. 

They had now injfcheir progress veacned a 
high hill, over whida the road, in its course, 
wended in an angular direction to avoid a too- 


Bteep ascent. The sun was now hidden front 
view, which had for the last hour been disap- 
peariog rapidly, as they drew nearer to the foet 
of the hill. Except a faint beam of its light, 
shot over the brow of the eminence through the 
opening in the trees made by the road, was 
visible in the distance. There the travellers 
stopped and seated themselves upon a fallen oak 
by the road side, and the mother, who could 
no longer restrain her strong emotions, buried 
her face in her hands and wept as she gazed 
upon her little son, who watched her with the 
sympathy of one who could feel for another's 
distress, though he knew not the cause. 

After some moments, in which he had pain- 
fully listened to his mother's sobs, in the inno- 
cence of his young soul said — 

"Mother, do not weep, for those tears of 
thine are as bitter to me as if they fell from my 
own eyes — can I not relieve you, mother, in 
some way ? " 

"No — no — my son," she replied, raising her 
head, and wiping her swollen eyes, that looked 
as if they had wept tears of blood. " Poor 
boy, how little he thinks he is the innocent 
cause of my troubles," thought she, as she took 
hold of his arm *nd drew him nearer to her. 
" Are you not tired, my dear, this day's walk 
has been a long one, and I fear too much for 

" No, mother, I think not ; I don't care for 
myself, but rather that you should be weary." 

The mother embraced her boy with a coun- 
tenance beaming with gratification that showed 
how dearly she loved him. " Y©aa can do rut 


more for thy mother, Henry, than to always 
care for and love her. May heaven reward you 
for your fidelity, and in its own good time 
remove the heavy clouds that hang about us." 

"I pray that it may," ejaculated the son 
with delight, that he saw hope beaming in his 
mother's features, upon which he had gazed 
with despondency. " We may well be elated 
with the thought, that the brightest day often 
succeeds a lowering morning. I am sure 
heaven cannot be unmindful of us." 

At these words their attention was turned 
to the hill, up which they must ascend before 
they could reach a lodging forthe night, and as 
the evening wa3 fast advancing, they hurried 
their steps that they might not be benighted, 
and they soon gained the summit. 

" If we have not misjudged our progress, my 
son," said the mother, " we shall reach the inn 
before dark." 

"Indeed, we shall, for I can discern it 
yonder in the opening, not half a-mile 

"This is truly charming," she exclaimed* 
" for I think I could not endure a great while 
longer this uneven road." Here a thought 
crossed her mind which caused her countenance 
to assume a graver aspect, and taking hei 
purse from her pocket examined its contents. 
" I fear, Henry, we shall not be able to procure 
a lodging for this small sum for us both," she 

" We shall have to beg then the charity of 
the landlord," returned the son. 

" I iesr & wHl be a hard one," answered th« 


mother, who had asked too many times with- 
out success for a lodging or a bit of bread, to 
be consoled by such words. 

" Indeed, mother, have hope he may be a 
feeling landlord, who can sympathise with the 
•distressed ; they cannot all be so unfeeling as 
you say. Come, v there is no alternative." 

Carlton de Blake had emigrated from Eng- 
land at an early period, and settled in the 
State of Vermont— one of the first in the town 
»f Montpelier. He was one of those men whom 
{brtune had blest with an abundance, with 
regard to physical comforts, and at the time 
we speak, although at that early age of the 
eountry, reputed wealthy. Ill luck often, 
placed him in circumstances where, being 
innocent, he suffered for the guilty, and but 
for the abundance of his pecuniary means, 
would have been an object of pity indeed. In 
his intercourse witl^his fellow-men he en- 
deavoured to be strictly honest, but suffered 
much from t^e ungratefulness of others, by his 
promptness and exactness of dealing, who per- 
haps possessing the very quality he did not, 
ascribed to^Him the meagre appellation of Miser 
■de Blake This was exceedingly galling to hia 
patience, but he knew a retaliation would only 
serve to increase this antipathy, and so con- 
tented himself with his title, without ever 
giving cause for a reverse opinion ; but adher- 
ing strictly to the Scriptural injunction, "let 
not thy left hand know what thy right hand 


doeth," his charitable deeds were his own 

De Blake had a brother some two years 
younger than himself, to whom was shown, by 
the parents, much partiality. This unjust pro- 
ceeding in family government is often the most 
fatal in consequence ; their safety and security 
is thus placed at hazard, and the utmost dis- 
order and dire animosity takes the place of 
filial and parental fondness. 

Such was the case in the family of de Blake,, 
who lived in a town of Staffordshire, England. 
Carlton, the present hero of the tale, had never, 
in the confidence of his father, obtained that 
credit which he had granted his brother. In- 
deed the little discrepancies of his youth were 
not so readily overlooked, but were judged and 
watched with a suspicious eye. 

Thus had the lads grown up to manhood, 
and the feelings that pervaded «3ch may easily 
be conjectured. 

It was a fine afternoon in she month of 
September, when Carlton, by himself, had 
donned his hunting accoutrements and saun- 
tered forth upon an excursion. The sun was 
shining in slanting rays over the landscape, 
producing in the feelings a sort of: restless 
melancholy or satiety. ^e walked along 
leisurely, at times stopping to satisfy himself 
as to a rustling he fancied he heard, then 
quickening his pace to pass a clump of trees, to 
catch sight of a hawk which he fancied he saw 
glide behind them. He was so often disap- 
pointed that at last he sat down upon a fallen 
rock to rest himself. 

10 THE pirates' league; or, 

" The old man's grounds are getting rather 
lean of game," he said, "and like my patience, 
Ss rather the worse for scouring. As for en- 
during this continual toil any longer, I will 
not — but where shall I go ? If I leave before 
the old man dies, not a cent will be mine — but 
I am not sure should I remain — perhaps some- 
thing may turn up in my favour. I may, it is 
possible, win the old man's favour, for I cannot 
conceive, and I mean to tell him so, why he 
should harbour such feelings towards me. If 
I fail in this, why so be it ; Ellen, I know, 
loves me— how do I know that ? — I don't — " 

Here the sound of his dog Tracer in pursuit 
of game aroused him. The noise was at a dis- 
tance, but he could easily distinguish that it 
was approaching, and he sprang into a clump 
of bushes, which afforded him a place of con- 
cealment, and awaited the issue. 

As the noise of the pursuit grew louder and 
more distinct, he drew himself up into attitude 
of firing, in order, when the game passed a 
little opening in the trees to which he bent his 
gaze, to lose no time in preparation. 

At length he could hear the quick breathing 
of the pursued, and the quick and eager pant- 
ings of the ferocious dog A dark shadow 
passed the opening— he fired — a horrible scream 
rent the air, and thrilled through his very soul. 
He stood for a moment aghast — cold drops of 
perspiratiois stood upon ids brow ; then, 
throwing bis hands to heaven in agony, ex- 
claimed : 

" Good God ! what have I done ? " and 
rushed to the spot, where his fears were con- 


firmed of the mischief he had done, by behold- 
ing his brother stretched upon the ground 
apparently dead. " Killed my brother ! " 
exclaimed the heart- stricken Carlton, his own 
fereath almost leaving him as he looked upon 
the pale features of his dying brother, mur- 
dered, it seemed, by his own hand. 

"Oh! Father of mercies, why hast Thou 
afflicted me thus ? Oh ! this is unsupportable 
— brother, dear brother, you are not dead — 
can't be — he does not move, his pulse haa 
stopped — my peace is blasted for ever — a mur- 
derer — how can I be myself again — how meet 
my father — how hope for Ellen — " 

"Ellen!" exclaimed William, recovering, 
"cruel, cruel brother ! " 

" What ! " exclaimed Carlton, astonished 
beyond all possible endurance. The truth of 
his critical situation rushed in a moment upon 
his soul in its fearful and stern reality, froir 
which there was no possibility of escaping, 
" Brother, do you think me — " 

"Cruel, cruel—" 

" Have I deserved this— why, wherefore ? " 

" Do you not love Ellen Stanwood ? Ah ! 
revengeful — cruel — " He could not finish 
what he would say, but fell back to the 
ground, from which he had partially risen, 

Carlton knew that expostulation would be 
useless, for all the assurances he might urge in 
favour of his innocence would be in vain. He 
knew his conduct towards William had not 
been what it should have been. This waa a 
refy unfavourable symptom ; and that ha 

12 THE pirates' league; or, 

would be considered, even by his father, a 
wilful murderer; that he had committed the 
crime in order that he might revenge himself 
on his brother, now that he had ascertained 
Carlton loved her, would be the natural 
■conjecture drawn from these several con- 

Carlton saw it in this light, and becoming 
terrified in view of it, did the worst thing 
possible, which served to confirm his supposed 
:guilty motives — he ran away, and was never 
afterwards heard of in England. 

William de Blake was conveyed by his 
friends, who sought him, to his chamber, and 
the best faculty employed to aid his recovery. 
'The extent of his injury could not be deter- 
mined, and the physicians who attended him 
could not well hasten his convalescence, con- 
sequently many months Dassed before he was 
able to leave his bed. 

" Ellen Stanwood was the daughter of George 
Stanwood, the overseer of the estate, and chief 
counsellor of Baron de Blake, the father of 
William and Carlton. She was equal in intel- 
lectual attainments, if not in birth, to the 
Boron's sons. Her knowledge of history was 
immense. She could relate with wonderful pre- 
cision many, if not all, the incidents recorded 
in the history of her own country and others. 

Her classical knowledge was of no inferior 
•order ; for she could read Homer and Virgil in 
their original, with the exactness of one long 
studied in the dead languages. To these ac- 
complishments was added beauty of features 
»nd symmetry of form, combined with a most 


winning and fascinating deportment. In per* 
son she was of the medium stature, and at this 
time about seventeen years of age. Mild in 
disposition, and gentle in conduct, she was 
beloved by all who knew her. She bestowed 
her smiles on all without reserve, or apparent 
preference for the attention of any. 

Nor, indeed, as yet, had any dared to 
approach beyond the common civilities of good 
breeding. It was not long before she wag 
assailed by the declaration of William de Blake 
that he loved her. 

So sudden, and as she thought, out of 
character, was this, that she dared not credit 
the young man with truth. What love could 
the son of a baron bear to a young girl of her 
standing — a menial in his father's service ? It 
could not be but that his motives were ij-each- 
erous, and he had evil designs at heart. 

"Miss Stanwood, hope, does not doubt 
my veracity in making this declaration," said 
William, after a pause, in which he had noted, in 
the features of Ellen, wonder and astonishment* 
blended with confusion and struggling emotions^ 
whether to doubt or believe what she had heard. 

" Indeed, sir, I feel much perplexed how to 
receive this testimony of what I should have 
deemed impossible to have occurred. Coming ¥ 
from such a source of high rank, a menial like * 
myself can in no wise judge of a superior." 

' ' Madam, you have truly reasons to doubt. 
But I had hoped — " he added, but he had 
stopped, for what he would advance he knew 
would be chiding what was most commendable 
in her nature. 


" 1 understand what you would say," re- 
plied Ellen, "but I cannot but think you 
could make a choice among these of your own 
rank more suitable of filling the high station 
you would offer me." 

"I have not the least fear," replied Wil- 
liam, 'but that the accomplished Miss Stan- 
wood is fitted to occupy any station, however 
exalted. Indeed," he added, "you now under- 
rate yourself. The son of the Baron de Blak© 
cannot hope to obtain one more worthy. " 

"Do not flatter me, my lord, for, unused 
as I am, I may take more readily what you 
have expressed to be the idle words of a fickle 

"Do not mock me, madam ; my sincerity 
must command better respect. If in me you 
can find a suitor and a lover, in the true object 
of his heart, I would be most happy in offering 
to you my hand." 

" To be candid with you, sir, as I should 
have been at first, I would say in answer, I 
have no power to form such an alliance as you 

!>ropose to me. If my will were my own, I at 
east might give encouragement by promising 
to consider the matter." 

This reply at once put to flight all his hopes 
—he felt so abashed at this that he confusedly 
left her presence. 

Carlton had never made any protestations 
of his love to the fair Ellen, but deferred it to a 
more remote period, as his diffidence prompted 
him most strongly ; he chose rather to live im 
'hope, upon her sweet smiles ; for he had not 
the least idea his brother or any one else had 


sued to her, in which case he probably would 
have been impelled to quicken his tardy pro- 
gress in her affections. 

The baron, believing his son guilty of the 
act of wilful murder, strengthened by his 
former prejudices against him, could, notwith- 
standing, now that he was placed beyond a 
hope of recovery, feel that his treatment to- 
wards him had been unjust ; and endeavoured 
at times, notwithstanding that his own con- 
science should suffer entirely for the whole 
cause of the bloody deed, smother the convic- 
tion that, had management in his family govern- 
ment been what it should have been, such a 
thing would not have occurred. 

But as often as he attempted to banish this 
idea from his mind, so often by his reasoning 
co the contrary, would conviction strike more 
fixedly in his heart that his son had been 
ruined by his own imprudence. Nor did the 
recovery of William serve to restore what hia 
fears for him had created, which apparently 
seemed the chief object of his sorrow — a decline 
of health. But the repentant father was filled 
with remorse, and being somewhat advanced i* 
life, soon sank under this heavy burden. 

William, now the only heir to his father'i 
property, took upon himself the arduous duty 
of managing the affairs of the estate ; and lived 
in all the extravagance of his luxury. 

He once more went to the fair Ellen for her 
hand ; but it was done with far different 
motives than his former solicitation. He felt 
in his exalted station far above her, and wished 
to chastise her for her blunt refusal when he 


wooed her in the honesty and simplicity of his 
eoul. Eank and station had made a proud and 
arbitrary man of him, and he looked down upon 
his inferiors with disdain. Having the means, 
he denied himself nothing, and spared not his 
shining gold for the gratification of his sensual 
desires. In such a state of human depravity 
he approached the lovely Miss Stan wood, and 
with his deceptive arts robbed her of all that 
made life happy — her virtue. 

In due time William was reduced to abject 
poverty, and to escape from contumely was 
obliged to fly from his country. 

Ellen, who had been secreted for several 
months by William, with the anxious expect- 
ancy of his marriage vows, not receiving that 
visit from him that she was wont, was soon 
turned with her helpless babe, by her 
unfeeling landlady, upon the cold charities of 
the world. 

With a heart dropping under her heavy afflic- 
tion she wended her way towards London, where 
she was employed in a family who, pitying her 
unfortunate condition, rendered her all the 
assistance in their power. 

But, as is often the case when misery has 
wrapped up the soul and divested us of every 
comfort that fortune attracted, and in ita 
weight tends to sink us lower and lower, Ellen 
had been scarcely a week in her new station, 
and began to throw off her anxiety, when an 
unexpected incident occurred, which again 
deprived her of a shelter and a home. 

Several articles of value had been missed* 
Had through the treachery of one of the ser- 


vants they were demanded of the unfortunate ;. 
she protested her innocence, but in vain — the 
theft was charged her— and she had no evi- 
dence of her innocence. In this dilemma she- 
was taken before the justice and examined — 
several spoons were found secreted in the folds- 
of her dress. She was tried and convicted - y 
but was finally pardoned through the interven- 
tion of Mr Fitzgerald, who laid before the 
court her unfortunate condition, and the suffer- 
ing that her helpless infant would endure 
should the law have its course, and at the 
same time manifested his willingness to pay 
any bond that the court might specify, as a- 
remuneration for her liberty. This was granted, 
and Miss Stanwood liberated. She afterward* 
expressing her desire to leave the country, a 
passage was obtained by the above-named 
gentleman and, together with a company of 
emigrants, sailed for the new world. 

Mr Fitzgerald was the man in whose family 
Miss Stanwood had lived, and from whom the 
articles were stolen ; and had he been home 
at the time of the theft, would have sifted the 
matter without legal measures, as he after- 
wards did, though some months elapsed before 
he made the discovery, and found the servant, 
who had charged the unfortunate Ellen with 
the crime, guilty. He afterwards suffered aa 
the law directed, with death. 

He confessed before execution that he had 
placed the articles in the lady's dress. 



We now pass over the space of fourteen cold 
years which brings lis to the period when our 
tale opens. 

The inn to which our travellers were 
directed was not a public one as they supposed, 
but was the private dwelling of Carlton de 

As it is still twilight, a description of this 
beautiful place may with accuracy be given, 
and perhaps there exists a peculiarity about it 
at this hour, which it does not bear at any 
other, for now that the light of the blazing sun 
has receded from the landscape, which appears 
dark by its deep hue of green, the white walls 
of the mansion and its gravelled walks appear 
more distinctly. The building faces the road, 
and is situated on the right towards the east, 
the land about it is even, inclining gradually to 
the west, until the inclination is lost in the 
level surface of a meadow spreading itself to a 
considerable distance, until arrested by the re- 
bounding forest. 

All around appears to be arranged in the 
most perfect order. Here the road for several 
hundred yards to the north and south assumes 
a very different appearance, in one respect for 
beauty, a bank wall is extended along to a 
considerable distance; the water courses are 
turned with greate' care, and the ditches 
cleared from every obstacle that might obstruct 
the passage of water, in which case it would 
injuie the road ; the car-ruts have been 
cautiously filled, and missiles and stones which 
are often thrown up by the frost and placed 


there by mischievous schoolboys have been 
diligently thrown and piled in neat heaps by 
the roadside. Trees of a young growth are 
extended along the wall, and clusters appear 
in various parts of the farm, especially near 
the house, forming in their appearance 

As our travellers approached nearer, they 
did but stop to admire, notwithstanding their 
forlorn condition, and indulge a thought, which 
this pleasing rurality occasioned to their minds. 

The milk-maid, as she strolled from her dairy 
room leisurely to the farm-yard, with her 
clean, white milk-pail swung upon her arms, 
had an irresistible charm in it which our 
travellers could but admire, not so much the 
home-spun verse. 

The termination of each cl„ase, of which, 
■with a peculiar quirk of the organ of speech, 
to bring a word, which according to the rules or 
versification should not have been there, in 
rhythm with a preceding one ; as the sweet, clear 
melody of her voice which echoed in the distant 
forest loud and long. 

Then there was the loud and boisterous 
vociferations of the farm boy to the cows as he 
was driving them from the pasture to undergo 
their nightly operation under the fair hands of 
the pretty milk-maid; the bleating of the 
f)air of sheep and goats as they 3ought a 
Shelter under the covert of some projecting 
rock or tree for the night. The nightingale in 
his lofty soarings in the dark air, the whip- 
poorwill's plaintive notes, and the evening 
songs of tbe robin redbreast, served to form a 


strange medley of the most beautiful in nature's 

Soon the cows were enclosed in the farm- 
yard, and Zedy, the boy, began conversing in 
familiar tones with Dorothy the milk-maid, by 
whose side he had come and sat. 

Now Zedy, or Zed, or Zedediah was a youth 
of about seventeen years of age ; he was tall, 
and raw-faced, and of a very docile nature. 
He was, strictly speaking, a regular greenhorn, 
and ill-luck seemed to delight to play her 
ditties on him to the no small uncomfort of Zed. 

"Dorothy," he said, after some moments' 

" Well, Zed," answered the maid. 

"Why, if ye only knew, Dorothy — I fear," 
stammered Zed, "the bears will eat yon — oh, 
oh, oh." 

" What do you mean ? " exclaimed the sur- 
prised milk-maid. " The bears eat me, what 
do you mean ? " 

"Yes, when ye are going home to your 
mother's to-night." 

"Ah! that's what you are up to, is it, Zed," 
answered the girl, with an understanding look, 
" want to spark me home, do ye ? " 

"Ye — ye — yes, Dorothy, if ye can have no 
objections, I can protect ye, you know," and 
suiting the action to the word, he was going to 
throw his arms around her, when the witty 
maid turned her hand slightly, and spouted a 
well directed jet of milk into the physiognomy 
of Zed. 

"Go away," she exclaimed. " I'll lam ye, 
you flax head ? " 


By this unexpected encounter lie was half 
blinded, and in the circumvolutions of his bony 
arms to brush the liquid from his eyes, the 
goad which he still retained in his hand, the 
use of which he had made in driving the cows 
from the pasture, coming in contact with old 
brindle's hide, gave her such a fright that in 
starting suddenly she kicked the milk and 
maid over upon the ground. Dorothy uttered 
a pitiful scream and called on Zed to help her, 
but Zed, who had now sufficiently recovered 
his sight, stood gazing at our travellers, whom 
be discovered in a state of almost bewilderment. 

Not heeding the cries of poor Dorothy, after 
some minutes' gazing he advanced towards 
them, and in the true spirit of his breeding, 
bluntly asked them, "Who are ye ?" 

"We are poor travellers who desire a 
shelter for the night," replied the woman. 
*' Who resides here ? " 

"My master," replied Zed, very honestly. 

" And who is your master ? " 

" A man I guess that wouldn't refuse ye a 
night's lodging, if ye had plenty of money to 
pay for it," said Zed, eyeing them more me- 
chanically, as if he had seen no one before in 
all his life. 

The woman at last, in hatred of his many 
questions, demanded of him with earnestness 
to intercede for them to his master, and Zed 
slowly withdrew into the house to inquire if 
they could be accommodated. 


While this odd scene was being enacted out 
©f doors, quite a different one was going on 
within. Farmer de Blake was seated quietly 
in his own room when his neighbour Sinford. 
was ushered in. There was something very 
peculiar and abrupt in his manner. 

Sinford was a man of about forty years of 
age, of medium size, and gentlemanly bearing. 
He was not a farmer, but a merchant of the 
village of Montpelier. He had come from 
England, and had been in the country some 
fourteen or fifteen years. He, also, was well 
to live in the world, and bad, during his resi- 
dence in the village, purchased a portion of 
land of Esquire de Blake, and built himself an 
elegant mansion thereon, some half a mile from 
that of the Esquire's. 

His business of late years had been entrusted 
almost entirely to the hands of an efficient 
clerk, which afforded him much leisure time, 
almost the entire of which he spent with De 

In this position the neighbours thus far had 
harmonized exactly, nothing particular had 
arisen, except their arguments upon creeds, 
systems, and politics, to cause the slightest 
irritability between them. But their disputes, 
although sometimes carried so far as to cause 
an indifference to respect, and some hard worda 
in their over-excitement happened to drop, 
they were, on cooler deliberation, all passed 
over with a hearty shake of the hand in the 

Aa Sinford entered, the esquire lifted his eyes 


from a large volume which he was perusing, 
and turned to his visitor. 

"I perceive," said he at length, "that I 
was a little too hasty last evening in asserting 
the universality of the law of transmission ; 
upon more deliberate consideration, I could 
perceive some exceptions." 

" That there are exceptions, and very plau- 
sible ones!" replied the other, "is very evi- 
dent, and in fact so numerous as hardly to 
credit a foundation in truth." 

" But I do not doubt it altogether," replied 
De Blake, "for I do conceive an adaption. It 
is apparent to my mind." 

" It is not to mine. A system not plausible 
in itself should have no credit. I perceive no 
adaption in the slightest." 

"I do!" 

"To what?" 

" Reproduction — applied to all orders — vege- 
table and the animal kingdom. The qualities 
of one thing are reproduced in what originates 
from its kind." 

"That no one can be ignorant of," replied 
Sinford, rather sneeringly, and not thinking to 
what conclusion this assent would bring him. 
"It is evident that a dog would not spring 
from a horse, or a sheep from another not of its 
kind, that's plain enough." 

" Very plain, indeed, therefore, a natural 
law applied in one sense will be likely to hold 
good in another adaption — where the causes are 
tht> same, the results must likewise be. 
Therefore I was, neighbour, " added De Blake, 
snore convinced that he had the best side of the 

24 the pirates' league; or, 

question, "our passions and qualities of mind 
are hereditary, descending to us in proportion 
as they existed in our parents. " 

"But the mind and its properties are not 
to be considered in the same manner as mat- 
ter ? " replied Sinford. 

" Exactly the same/' replied De Blake j 
"for upon the brain depends the mind ; if the 
power of my head be like my father's, my mind 
will be like his, my disposition the same." 

" And all your actions and conduct will b@ 
a fac simile, I suppose, according to the same 
law," said Sinford, triumphantly. 

"Neighbour Sinford," said the other, a 
little vexed. "You bought some land of 

" I did, sir," said the other, with a haughty 
air, stopping suddenly, and turning short in his 
pacing the room, while a smile stole over his 
face, blended with a little anger that his neigh- 
bour sho'ild speak of it. 

And as he thought to remind him of his 
obligations, by way of retaliation that he had 
worsted him in his argument. 

" Your father bought none of me." 

" No." 

"Thus you see, circumstances have placed 
you differently from your father, although you 
may possess the same disposition you have 
conducted reversely." 

This remark was decisive, although the. 
illustration was simple, and trivial in itself, 
Sinford was abashed, and he sat down, crossed 
his hands, and looked moodily upon the floor. 

" In further illustration of this law," replied 


De Blake, determined that he would make his 
neighbour an entire proselyte, " I have a gift 
in my secretary presented to me by an Indian, 
on my first coming into the country for a slight 
service rendered him, who informed me that it 
had been given for a service rendered of the 
same kind in their tribe, from the death of 
one of their chiefs, a hundred years before." 

" But what has that to do with the trans- 
mission of the qualities of the mind or pas- 
sions," said Sinford, gruffly. 

" It has much. It may answer fo illustrate 
generally I'll fetch the article, and then we 
will speak of it more definitely." 

De Blake disappeared for a few moments, 
and soon returned with a short poniard or 
dagger in his hand. 

' ' There ! this is the present, " said he, hold- 
ing it up before the eyes of his neighbour. 
*' The story of this is a very horrid one indeed, 
and heaven grant that the predictions of the 
Indian chief as to the office it *vould perform 
in time, may never occur." 

"What did he know about it ? " asked Sin- 
ford, taking the dagger in his hand and examin- 
ing it. 

"It's possible that he knew nothing, but it 
shows how that quality of superstition per- 
vaded the whole of his tribe, through the long 
lapse of time that has intervened, though none 
existed when it was presented to me, that lived 
in the time of the chief, but still the presenti- 
ment pervaded as strong in the minds of his 

" What was the prediction. " 

26 THE pirates' league; ck, 

" The story is brief, and may be told in a 
few words," remarked De Blake. ' ' The chief of 
the tribe of Ahuneynas was a very powerful 
and valiant warrior, with his tribe inhabiting 
the forest about Boston. 

" Manhattan was the most ductily sensitive 
in disposition and feeling, Avhich distinguished 
him greatly from other chiefs, or any of his 
tribe. During his day the white man made hia 
appearance upon this New England soil, and 
planted his foot as an indisputable right upoa 
the hunting grounds of Manhattan, to which 
the Indian chief was of a necessity obliged to 
make a compromise with the white man, and 
relinquished his right of possession, with a 
desire to settle himself with his tribes in the 
thicker and denser forest. 

" But the Indian many times came back to 
express his feelings of sorrow, and give vent to 
a flow of misgivings, at the fate which had 
obliged him thus to part with his lands. The 
high towering altar which at the eaily dawn of 
every day he had been taught to stand from hia 
childhood and address his Manito, was the spot 
which clung most tightly round his heart. 

"Near this place lived a white settler with 
whom the chief became very intimate. Tha 
man, who was a father, had an only daughter, 
her name was Elvira, she seemed an object of 
marked attention to the Indian, and he was 
often seen leading her about from place to 
place with the interest of one who felt a strong 
and ardent attachment. 

" This at first was not noticed, or, if it 
■wa*, thought nothing of. But when, too lat% 


jhe father learned that the daughter and the 
Indian were in love, by the chief demanding of 
him her hand in marriage. The father was 
confounded. He knew not what to say, so 
overcome and surprised was he. His answer 
at last was a positive denial of its taking place, 
and ordered him from his house. He obeyed 
apparently with willingness, and departed. 

"Manhattan, however, was not to be re- 
fused, and he accordingly watched his oppor- 
tunity determined to carry off his fair protege. 

"The father had remonstrated with his 
daughter to no purpose. He found her inflex- 
ible. He feared what would happen. And 
rather than she should flee to the Indian's 
'sooty guardianship, see her dead. He 
watched with vigilance, determined to defeat 
all plans that might have been made between 
them for a meeting or elopement. 

"At last the former took place, and the 
latter attempted, when the father, who had at 
last become enraged, struck his daughter to 
the earth by a blow intended for the Indian, 
who escaped. 

"The dagger which put an end to his hopes, 
he found some months after, when he again 
secretly watched the spot. In the true spirit 
of the Indian character, he would have re- 
taliated and sought revenge ; but to the father 
of Elvira the Indian owed many obligations 
which he could not forget. Besides he knew 
that in justice, according to hid rude sense of 
right and wrong, he had not been injured, for 
in completing his desires he would have injured 
the parent, and the parent, in his impetuosity 


to seek revenge on him, had more injured him* 

" However foreign this reasoning may appear 
to an Indian mind, it is perfectly obvious from 
the conduct of Manhattan that it remained not 
for him to seek revenge iu this present instance. 

" He wore the dagger near his heart until 
his death, as I said before, and gave it to his 
nearest kin, saying that he had communed 
with the spirit of the place where the deed had 
been committed, and learned that the weapon 
should be held among the tribe till some 
succeeding years, as an emblem of what would 
be committed in the future by its kin — the full 
revenge of their chief's wrongs, if it were ob- 
served to be always given, in case of favours 
rendered, to cancel those of the unfortunate 
maid's father, which restrained the chiefs from 
his hostile purpose. When the time should be 
known, and the favour rendered, it would be 
presented to a white man." 

" Why have you received it ? " exclaimed 
Sinford, who had been listening with atten- 
tion, his little eyes starting from his head. 
"Do you not fear that this prediction will be 
Sulfilled upon you ? " 

" Had I any such, fear I would not have 
taken it, or listened to the Indian with such 
laughing attention, to so rude, and to me, very 
incredible story ; but out of mere curiosity I 
have preserved it for the story's sake. Do you 
not perceive in this the principle I would con- 
vince you, that the same passions may be 
transferred in like proportion, as they exist in 
the parent, to the disposition of the child ? " 

THli 1 SEA- GULL. 2& 

"A partial view I have of it," returned 

" Here is a passage in the Scriptures, which 
bears a considerable weight," returned De 
Blake, " which I happened to spy when you 
came in : 

" 'And the sins of the father shall visit the 
children unto the third and fourth generation.' " 

Sinford sat silent either from consent to the 
argument, or that his mind was occupied with 
other subjects. 

Some moments passed and not a word was 
uttered by either ; De Blake turned his atten- 
tion to the book he had relinquished, while 
Sinford sat with his eyes bent upon the floor . 
now and then raising them and turaing his 
head to his neighbour, and reversing th« 
position of his legs which were crossed, as if to 
address him, would again resume his former 
position, as though his resolution was not 
sufficiently formed, and a few moments more 
would pass in silence. 

At last he broke silence. 



"I bought some land of you," answered 
Sinford with a self-important air, feeling the 
extent of the subject he was going to introduce. 

" Yes," replied De Blake, recollecting that 
it was his neighbour's turn to retaliate upon 
him. A slight flush of shame suffused his fea- 
tures as he thought that his previous mention 
of the fact had been construed by his neighbour 
to a wrong meaning. "You are satisfied, I 
hope," he added. 


"No, I am not." 

" What ! " said De Blake, starting at this 
unexpected announcement. 

"Not satisfied," reiterated Sinford, "nor 
shall I be till my possession shall extend to the 
obligation of my deed." _ _ n 

"And do you not possess to its full limits ? 

"No, sir.'' 

" What does it specify ? " 

" It specifies— it specifies—," said Sinford, 
taking the instrument from his pocket, "it 
specifies that I am entitled to all the land ex- 
tending to the forest, which comprises the 

"The meadow!" exclaimed De Blake, 
catching the paper from the other's hand, " let 
me see ! " 

" It is plain, very, very plain." 

"Do you intend to claim it ? " 

" Most positively." 

" But this is a mistake," said De Blake, i. 
little vexed. "The bargain excluded this 
strictly and emphatically. " 

«' The deed says all— all the land." 

"Neighbour, why is this? this must be 

"It can't be done," returned Sinford. 

" It can— it shall be ! " exclaimed De Blake, 

"It shall not De," returned the other in a 

similar tone ; "give me the paper." 

" Not till it is corrected." 

"Give me the paper," and Sinford, watch-, 

ing his opportunity, snatched it from the 

other's hand, upon which De Blake unguard- 


edly thrust his hand into the face of Sinford, 
whose anger rose to its highest pitch at this 
bonl insult. He raised the dagger which lay 
upon the table, and rushed towards De Blake, 
and would have struck it to bis heart, but ah 
that moment the door opened, and Zed injected 
his flaxen h»ad into the room. 

At this interruption 8inford suddenly re- 
leased his hold of the Esquire, while his hand, 
which was upraised, fell harmless by his side. 
Confused, he walked to the farther end of the 
room, while De Blake, recovering himself as 
much as possible, quelled the rising curiosity of 
Zed to know what they meant by assuring him 
that it was all in jest. ° 

'-What is your business, Zed?" asked the 

"Two persons want a night's lodgine," 
sard he. a 

"Who are they?" 

"One's a woman and the other's a boy," 
said Zed, swinging the door open, which gave 
the travellers at the door an opportunity to 
ec £ n tke room and those within, by a 
which hung in the passage-way near the door, 
a view of the applicants. 

Presently a faint scream was heard, and the 
female tell fainting upon the floor. 

Zed, half frightened, dodged into the room, 
and concealed himself behind the door, trem- 
bling with fear, while De Blake approached 
the lady to lend her his assistance. 

Nothiug could exceed the piteous cries of 
poor Henry to see his mother thus insensible. 

' Oh ! mother, what is the matter ? " he said,* 


endeavouring to support her head from the 
floor. "Is she dead, sir?" he again added to 
De Blake. 

"No, my son, only fainted ; she shall soon 
be restored. " 

By this time the females of the house 
arrived at the door. 

" Father, what's the matter, what has hap- 
pened ? " exclaimed Ella De Blake. 

"Nothing, my child." 

"But something has happened, for I heard 
a dreadful scream." 

"Oh, mercy," cried Mrs De Blake, "the 
poor woman is dead. " 

" Do something for my mother," exclaimed 
Henry, at hearing the announcement. 

" Poor little boy, is it your mother ? " said 
Ella, expressing a good deal of pity for him. 

" Husband, take the body into the house," 
said Mrs De Blake, ' ' away from the night air.'' 

"Come in, little boy," said Ella, "father 
will take care of your poor mother, " and she 
took him by the hand and led him into a snug 
little room — the oue which she and her mother 

"Zed, Zed," called De Blake, "where are 
you, come and assist me " 

Zed at this call obeyed, and soon the faint- 
ing lady was taken into the house and laid 
upon a bed. 


In a short time the lady recovered. But she 
was not herself. Her brain was turned, and 


her eyes stared wildly ; her questions were 
incoherent expressions, void of meaning, yet 
having enough to show that her mind had a 
secret which it had been overpowered with, 
After an hour or so she fell into a quiet slum- 
ber, and it was thought when she awoke she 
would recover her consciousness. 

All the family had now retired except 
Henry, who sat by his mother's bedside watch- 
ing her with eager attention, and De Blake, 
who sat in his own room to attend to any call 
during the night, if his services should be 
necessary, as he had some fears the poor woman 
might be worse, and need a physician. 

" There is something in the transaction of 
to-night which really make me uneasy — ths 
poor woman fainting — but that's nothing but 
the effects of fatigue— the expressions she 
made use of when she partially recovered — 
well, that's not to be wondered at ; I have 
often seen such cases before — the brain being 
heated by being in the sim — but I've seen that 
face before, it looks very familiar. I'll ereep 
tup to the bed-room again aw^er pretence ol 
supposing I heard a call." 

He ascended softly the stairs, and opened 
the door of the room without noise. Henry 
had fallen asleep, overpowered with fatigue and 
watching, the lamp burned dimly upon the 
stand, throwing a faint light around the room. 

De Blake approached softly the side of th« 
bed, and held the light near the head of ti^e 

"►It is a beautiful face," he thought to him- 
self, " wh» mix she be ? " He looked again j h© 


saw that sorrow had marked it with its defac- 
ing hand. " What a pity one so young as she 
must die. I have seen that face before," he 
added still to himself, and he looked again. 
"Ellen ! No, no — and yet it does look like 
her. It is her— those soft eyelashes— I cannot 
mistake — Oh ! Ellen ! " and he involuntarily 
pressed his lips upon hers. "Ah! poor girl, 
how came you here ? Some cruel person has 
driven you from your home — I did love thee 
first, and thou shaH have my pity and 

She moved, and he darted cautiously out of 
the room, and seated himself again in his own. 

It may seem strange that the affray should 
take such a turn between the Esquire and 
Sinford, when Zed interrupted them, if their 
feelings are not properly known. Sinford's 
eonfusion may be readily perceived to arise from 
a second thought, occasioned by Zed's entrance, 
of what he was doing, and a fear that the 
Esquire would tax him with an attempt upon 
his life. *ind De Blake, feeling his critical 
situation to Sinford in regard to his land, 
thought that if the affair was passed over, in 
their cooler moments the fault of the deed 
might be amicably settled. 

As De Blake sat musing upon these things, 
and upon others that bad occurred in his youth, 
he was startled by a noise overhead, as if some 
one was entering the house. He paused to 
listen, and he heard, presently, footsteps reced- 
ing from the house. 

He took the light and rushed upstairs again 
to ascertain the cause, and in passing the cham- 


her where the travellers were asleep, entered, 
and found the lady gone, and the boy still 
asleep. What could this mean ? She must 
have arisen in her frenzy, and escaped most 
cautiously. He resolved to know whither she 
had fled, and immediately descended the stairs, 
and proceeded to the field back of the house, and 
through which she must have taken her course. 

He had not proceeded far when he dis- 
covered a figure upon the meadow not far off. 
He quickened his pace and soon came up with 
it. He was near enough to ascertain that there 
were two persons — a man carrying what ap- 
peared a female under his arm, and making 
nis way towards the forest as fast as possible. 

He ventured to hail the figure before him ; 
it suddenly stopped, dropped its burden, and 
fled to the forest. 

The Esquire raised tne helpless female, from 
4he ground, and found it was the lady he was 
in search of. Her face was pale, and her eyes 
glassy, which gleamed most horribly in the 
silver rays of the moon. He carried her care- 
fully to a fallen pine tree which lay upon the 
meadow, and inclined her upon it. Jn doing 
eo he felt something warm trickling down upon 
his hand, which was clasped around her waist. 
Upon examination he found that a deep incision 
had been made in her breast, and a dagger 
was still sticking in it. But what was his 
consternation when he drew it out to find that 
it was the identical one he had had in his pos- 
session. The story of the Indian rushed most 
iearfully to his mind. 

Why was it that he should be the victim of 


such a fate ? Why did circumstances conspire 
to make him what he was not ? A murderer ? 
What could he do ? 

Filled with sad thoughts and repinings, he 
sunk exhausted upon the fallen tree, aud gave 
vent to deep grief. 

Could man be placed mors critically? 
Could circiimstances assume a more conspiring 
form against innocence, and throw over it the 
veil of guilt ? Esquire Be Blake was one of the 
wealthiest men in the country — he had a 
liberal heart, though many termed him miserly 
— his reputation stood high as a man of superior 
intelligence — a man of piety and truth, whose 
veracity was unquestioned, and whose excel- 
lence respected. Was all these to be over- 
turned, which had been built up with a dili- 
gent heart and hand, on a mere suspicion ? Was 
his old age to be shrouded in gloom ? De Blake 
could not but think so. 

He ventured to look upon the features of 
Ellen. He fain would ask her spirit who had 
done this ; what had brought her hither ? 
Could no way be devised to save himself ? But 
those thinking questions fled before the sight 
of her ghostly form. All the feelings of his- 
youth now rose up that he had cherished for 
her, then the bitter thought of what had separ- 
ated them. He turned away and wept. He 
Hust be resigned 

Some time passed. All was silent and still. 
The wind breathed not, but the air rested 
Jteavily and listless, echoing but the breathing. 
i£ the lone living being by the aide of 4h«' life* 
«u oesgwe upon the saeadaw. 


Presently his eye caught sight of a white 
figure. It gradually advanced towards him. 
The idea of ghosts at such an bxmr reminded De 
Blake that this must be one. He stood aghast. 
The blood of his heart flowed with a chilly 
rush through his veins, and then as suddenly 
back again, leaving a cold perspiration upon his 
frame, which seemed to freeze him to the spot. 
The form approached — it was indeed a ghost — 
it seemed to be that of his brother as he looked 
when he left him stretched upon the ground, 
with the blood streaming from his side. 

The ghost raised its thin fingers by way of 
triumph, and grinningly smiled 
%fc "But I am innocent," exclaimed De Blake, 
involuntarily, which brought a grim smile upon 
the deathly features of the ghost. 

"Speak," exclaimed De Blake again, and he 
stepped forward. " Brother ! spirit, what 
would you with me? If thou hast eyes and 
watchest the actions of men, thou knowest I 
deserve not this ; wherefore dost thou torment 
me ? " In his eagerness he advanced farther, 
and fell senseless to the ground. 


Dorothy as usual took her way towards her 
mother's hut after the duties of the day were 
done. As it was later than usual for her to go 
home, her mind was filled with fear, and she 
frequently stopped to look behind. 

a or she thought she heard some one step- 
ping upon the under brush and the dry leaves, 
making a crackling noise. 


Thus she passed along, halting now and 
then, wondering that she felt so fearful, for she 
had passed the same way a great many times, 
without the least apprehension. 

The distance she was to travel was about 
half a mile before she could reach her mother's 
habitation, and most of the way lay through 
the forest. She began to regret at last that she 
had not consented to Zed s kind offer to ac- 
company her, and resolved at last when she 
arrived at Noman's hut, an old Indian who 
had lived for many years there as a hermit, to 
ask him to accompany her. 

There was something of a mystery with re- 
gard to this old settler, which had never been 
solved. He lived alone, and seemed to mind 
»r regard those around him with little or no 
attention. To De Blake he owed some obliga- 
tion as he dwelt upon his land, and at times 
would have some words with him, but to no 
other except Dorothy and her mother, who 
often called on him as they passed and repassed 
his hut, and gave him some little necessaries, 
would he deign to hold communion. 

As he was docile and harmed no one, he wag 
left peaceably alone to enjoy life in his soli- 
tude. No one questioned his preference for 
the place he occupied, or why he did not live 
with the tribe he belonged, who occupied the 
tountry some ten or fifteen miles off. 

Whex Dorothy reached the hut, v»ut of 
breath, and in a hot perspiration from running, 
she dashed open the door and precipitated her- 
self into it without ceremony, but to her con- 
sternation she found it empty ; a fire was 


burning in the centre, and the smoke was 
issuing out of the top through the crevice3 in 
the roof. Supposing that the old Indian 
would soon return, she sat down to await for 
him upon the rude form, or cricket or stool. 

She had not been seated long before hearing 
a tread on the outside of the hut. She arose and 
went to the door, when the head of a huge 
bear was projected into the entrance, and the 
animal uttered a hideous growl and gnashed 
his large white teeth together, as if he would 
tear the occupant in pieces. 

Dorothy shrieked, and stowed herself away 
in the furthermost part of the hut, but did not 
faint or lose her nerves. No, this would not 
do for a girl like herself oorn and brought up 
in the woods; and although she knew her 
danger to be great, she preserved the utmost 
command over herself after the first shock of 
terror. She knew as long as the fire was kept 
burning the bear would never dare to enter, 
and thereby kept him at bay by throwing 
such things as were in the hut to keep the fire 

Zed, after assisting his master to carry the 
fainting lady to her room, took the earliest 
opportunity of looking after Dorothy. Zed 
loved her with all the affection that his heart 
could boast of, and notwithstanding her indif- 
ference to his advances, he sti!" persevered 
with the diligence of being encouraged in his 
suit.% He often invented means to urge her, by 
•xciting her fears, by telling her the bears 
would catch her when she went out, to accept 
of his coaap&a^. But he had not art enough 


for the milk maid, who always detected him, 
and annoyed him perpetually for trying to 
deceive her. 

Zed was a coward, and often manifested the 
greatest fear on the smallest occasions for it. 
But still love predominated in the present 
instance when no danger really presented 
itself, and he hurried after Dorothy, determined 
to see her safely home, although she knew it 
not, as he had often done before. 

As he arrived at the hut of the old Indian, 
he ventured to approach it nearer than his 
course would lead him, when he heard a dread- 
ful growl and a scream, and as he came round 
to the side where the entrance was he saw the 
bear standing at the door, and Dorothy alone 
within a prisoner. His own dear Dorothy. What 
coild he do— he had no weapon to despatch 
tf,je bear, and if he was not off in a twinkling 
fc!s own life would be in danger. 

He hesitated, almost a good mind to sacri- 
fice his own life for that of Dorothy's. Now 
was to be the grand test of his love for her. 
If he could but kill the bear and release her, 
she might accept him, aye, love him. He 
seized a large cudgel which lay near and 
approached. He made a lunge at the animal, 
when bruin, turning fiercely round, gave a 
hideous howl Zed was disarmed, he dad not 
dare another onset, but took refuge in a tree, 
which he climbed with astonishing agility. 

Dorothy ran through the door as soon as the 
bear's attention was turned to Zed, and fled ax 
fast as her legs would carry her towards he* 
mother's cottage, which she was not loog in 


reaching, leaving poor Zed to manage the bear 
to his own liking. 

Dorothy Antony was the daughter of a poor 
widow, who subsisted almost entirely upon the 
charity of her neighbours. Her husband, John 
Antony, had emigrated to that part of the 
country about the same time that De Blake 
settled there; but as fate would have it, he 
was killed by a falling tree about the time 
Dorothy was born. So of her father she knew 
nothing, except what she had heard her mother 
speak plaintively of him. 

Dorothy was a kind and benevolent girl, 
sixteen years of age, and what is generally 
termed a fair, buxom, country lass. Her 
cheeks were red, rosy, and the emblems of 
health ; her teeth were beautiful, her eyes were 
hazel, and her hair of a sandy hue. 

Such, reader, was the girl whom Zed Coby 
could not resist to love. She was the idol of his 
heart, and the sweet image that hovered around 
his bed in the pleasant visions of his slumbers. 

He was an odd customer, and Dorothy, 
although she did not hate, could not make up 
her mind to love him But still she cared more 
for him than her actions often indicated, 

His birth and parentage were not known, 
neither could he give any account of himself. 
He had come to the Esquire's, and he had taken 
him in, and after a little training, had brought 
him to become quite serviceable at the farm. 

The frequent kicks and knocks he had 
received from the other labourers at the 
Esquire's during his first year's apprenticeship 
never brought forth from him the least inclina- 


tion to retaliation ; but he consoled himself 
now that he was entering upon his second 
year, that he should gain from them a share of 
their good feeling in proportion as he had im- 
proved in his duties. 

Thus was he placed at the time we have 
atroduced him to the reader, and he was per- 
ectly content and happy, because he knew not 
ihat he could be more so anywhere else. 


Poor Zed. Long he sat in his airy seat, till 
hour after hour passed away like ages to him. 

No relief came yet. Bruin sat watching 
him intently, having thrown himself upon his 
haunches ; he sat erect, his jetty hair glisten- 
ing in the moonbeams as it stole through the 
tops of the trees, while now and then as Zed 
uttered a loud call, a similar growl escaped 
the bear alternately. 

It was now near midnight, when the old 
Indian returned. Gladly did the sound of his 
steps reach the ears of Zed, and delighted he 
heard the report of his gun upon the air, and 
he saw the bear fall dead upon the ground. 
He hurried down from his roost as quick as 
possible tt hank him for his deliverance. 
He met him at the door of the hut. 

" He made you his own." 

"Yes, the tarnal critter," answered Zed. 

"He treed me slicker 'n an eel." 

" What on the airth you got there, Noman ?" 
asked Zed, staring with all the eyes he had in 
his head. 


"No breath, 'em, Zed," said the Indian, 
laying his hand upon his mouth. " No good 
business in this work." 

"How comes it?" asked Zed. "I'll be 
darned if this aint the very gall that called at 
our house not four hours ago. And she 
fainted, and I help tuk up to her room, myself. 
Aint she got over it yet; what a long faint ? " 

"No hear. You speak more sober," said 
the Indian. ' ' She's killed." 

"Killed," exclaimed Zed, retreating back 
with horror at the expression, "who killed 

"Me no know, but me guess — no, me no 
tell you yet." 

"Where d'ye find her?" 

"On the meadow. Me pass by, saw her, 
and fetch her here." 

"Then ye don't know who done it, ha? 
tarnation strange," and he cast a suspicious 
glance upon the Indian. " Didn't I jist heard 
ye firing yer gun ? " asked Zed, supposing for 
the moment that the bear might have been 
accidentally shot at the same time without 

" No, no, me no kill de white gall. You no 
tink so ? " he said, while a tear stole dowa 
his cheek He fancied now that he might well 
be suspected, and he felt himself in Zed's 

"I'll be darned if I don't though," replied 

"No, no, me make you tink more different. 
Home take her into my hut. " 

Zed assisted the Indian in taking the unfor- 


tunate woman into the hut, and by the light 
of the fire the Indian examined the incision in 
the heart, and protested his innocence. 

" What are you going to do with the body, 
Noman ? " asked Zed, tremblingly. 

" She's no killed yet," said the Indian, look- 
ing up with a cheerful countenance, for he 
observed signs of life in the beating of the 
pulse and the fluttering motion of the heart. 

Zed placed his hand upon the heart, which 
was bloody, and felt the beating within. " I'll 
bet a goose she can be saved." 

"Me know so," answered the Indian. 

" We can take her down to Marm Antony's, 
where she can be comfortably taken care of," 
said Zed, a thought coming suddenly into his 

' ' But we must keep it secret if she no be 
well again." 

" Certain," said Zed, interpreting the 
Indian's meanings, "but you will keep her 
here to-night, for we should frighten 'em out 
of their wits if we took her there to-night. " 

"Me keep her safe. You come morrow, 
then me take her better care. Marm Antony 
are very kind woman, " added the Indian. 

" That's no lie," said Zed, "and a tarnation 
pretty darter she's got too." 

"You make her your wile one day," said 
the Indian, looking up with a smile. 

Zed shook his head, and retired towards 
the door of the hut and looked out preparatory 
to starting, for he felt no little degree of 
Bkittishness, after what had happened to him', 
in going home. He was once half inclined to 


stay, but the murdered lady seemed more 
horrible to witness than his fears of what he 
might meet in going. So nerving himself at 
last he started with a run towards the 
Esquire's, the least noise he heard adding more 
speed to his steps, while horrid visions flew 
around as he went, and seemed to follow in his 

Zed was just turning around a clump of 
trees which would bring him in view of the 
house, when he came in contact with some- 
thing coming in the opposite direction, which 
knocked him flat upon the ground. When he 
sufficiently recovered himself, he looked up — 
a tall, white figure was standing by his side. 
He gazed in horror upon the pallid features of 
the spectre before him. 

Presently the ghost spoke in a low and 
hollow tone which made the blood almost 
freeze in poor Zed's veins. 

" Mortal man, if thou disclose to any 
human ear anything thou hast seen this night, 
be assured I'll haunt thee from the grave 
during the rest of thy life. Swear to me that 
thou shalt alone be possessor of what thou hast 
Been. Swear this in the presence of thy God 
and me, a spectre from the dead." 

Zed uttered, "I swear," in a low and 
trembling tone, and he gazed at the figure as it 
disappeared, to him it seemed in the air. 

He now rose to his feet, and picking up his 
hat which had been knocked from his head in 
the collision, he prepared to depart once more, 
when he observed something upon the ground 
Bhining in the dark. He picked it up, and 

46 the pirates' league; or, 

found it was a silver shoe-buckle. This he 
placed in his pocket, and made the best of hia 
way home, pondering as he went the exceeding 
adventurous day he had had of it. He was no- 
longer frightened, for fear had become familiar 
to him, so that he arrived home safe, without 
meeting anything more adventurous worth 

The phenomenon of the shoe-buckle Zed 
could not account for. How it should be lost 
there he knew not, neither could he conjecture,, 
although he lay awake some time after he had 
lain himself down to repose. It was new and 
bright, which showed that it had not remained 
there for any length of time, and must have 
been lost there during the day previous. Zed 
examined it by the light of the candle, and 
found it of great value. He also discovered 
upon the back part of it the name of William 
Sinford. His first thought was immediately to 
carry it to him, as he knew his neighbour 
Sinford's name to be William. But then the 
horrid oath he had made to the ghost, to 
reveal to no mortal the least that had tran- 
spired during that night, made it necessary for 
him to keep it, &^ lie locked it up in his trunk 
and kept it safe. 

When the morning rose it found Esquire De- 
Blake in his room seated in his chair, under 
the influence of the most unhappy and painful 
thoughts. He tried to remember the occur- 
rences of the past night no more, but they 
crowded upon his imagination in all their vivia 


The Esquire from this time became a differ- 
ent man from what he used to be. Fear, 
gloom, and sorrow seemed to characterise his 
every movement to such a degree that it was 
observed by the family with some considerable 
alarm. The mysterious disappearance of the 
lady created in them many suspicions, which 
they dared not give breath to. After awhile 
the dispute between Sinford' and himself 
became known, and to this was attributed the 
cause of the Esquire's moodiness and extraor- 
dinary conduct. A law-suit soon commenced 
between the two neighbours ; at the first 
term of the court the matter was quibbled to 
a degree and laid over to the next term. The 
case was very unfavourable to De Blake, and 
should Sinford gain the case, the deed had 
been drawn so wrongly up by carelessness, 
that not the only small portion of the meadow 
would he gain, but by far the largest portion 
of the Esquire's estate. 

This seemed indeed damping enough, and 
were there no other, were enough to drive one 
mad. So strange an affair seemed to take up 
all attention, and the mysterious disappearance 
of the lady was almost forgotten in a few 
weeks ; although a seasonable search wag 
made, yet no traces could be found. 

Ella De Blake, of whom we have had occa- 
sion to speak on a former occasion, was now at 
the time our story commences but just in her 
teens— fourteen years of age. The time when 


the young creatures, if ever, begin to be beauti- 
ful and interesting, — when just emerging into 
womanhood, to observe the sudden transition, 
from school-girl gaiety to the shyness and 
modesty of the young maiden, — to mark the- 
womanish gravity detecting the giddiness of 
youth, which, as if unwilling to leave entirely 
its young companion, would unconsciously 
break in to the annoyance of the former, 
which taken so suddenly for her guardian, the 
young maiden often, unawares, is drawn away 
easily into her former lightness, which she had 
80 lately left, as if forgetting but that her 
gaiety had been laid aside for a day, — at the 
slightest temptation would renew them. 

This was the case with Ella. So extremely 
sensitive was she of true propriety and correct 
deportment that the flippancy of her girlhood, 
which had been as gay as now she would be 
precise and punctilious, seemed hard to aban- 
don, and often caused many a blush to gather 
upon her cheek, and many a secret repining, 
that she succeeded no better in correcting her- 
self or her faults, and as she thought her tardy 
progress in the accomplishments of a womam. 

But she was only detected by herself in 
these several little discrepancies of her con- 
duct, for none other chided but praised her. 
Every one was filled with admiration, and the 
most lavished praise and attention wherever 
she appeared abroad, deemed attracted as if 
she had been more than human. 

But this applause seemed to have no effect 
upon the heart of Ella De Blake, or her bear- 
ing, which is the means of so often ruining 


many that are beautiful. She still condemned 
herself, still lamented that she was no better. 
Vanity seemed to form no part of her disposi- 
tion. Her keen perception and discrimination of 
what was commendable prevented it. Although 
she was extremely beautiful, she regarded it 
not with pride, or clothed it with a false air of 
self-esteem. This perhaps made her more 
beautiful— for beauty unadorned is the most 
beautiful. It is as nature formed it, and will 
be admired wherever it is seen. 

Yet Ella could not discover in those mild, 
blue eyes of hers any peculiarity that should 
distinguish them from those of others, or in 
the fair outline of her exquisite features, more 
beauty than she beheld in others. The tresses 
of her auburn hair she arranged with taste, 
'twas true — but still she knew not that they 
hung more beautifully or gracefully upon her 
fair white neck than those of her companions, 
or her form more symmetrical, or the nimble- 
ness of her feet prettier or more bewitching. 
Indeed, she saw something in them to condemn, 
and wondered at the praise and flpttery that 
others bestowed upon them. 

Ranger Sinford war the son of Sinford, 
neighbour to De Blake, horn the reader i3 
already acquainted with. To Ella, Eanger 
had extended the greatest attention from hia 
youth. They were school companions, and it 
is fair to suppose that an attachment existed 
between them, as they say love begins when 
the heart is young and tender, and Ella could 
not but admire the kindness of Hanger, as he 
was always sure to wait for her every morning 


at the door, and return every evening home 
with, her from school. Indeed, she felt grate- 
ful, and showed him many marks of affection. 

Ranger was of her own age, and very pretty 
in appearance ; but there was not that worth 
in him that so often excites admiration even 
in others. There was something lacking in his 
composition which could not be made up by 
any conjectures of the mind, as an equivalent 
to overlook his faults. Nor was this defect 
erased by man's accomplishments and the 
experience of years. He remained the same. 

Ella saw this, and, as she grew older, her 
affection grew less and less, until she thought 
herself more happy when out of his company. 
Yet she knew her parents and his delighted in 
them, and often spoke, as- parents often will, of 
their children ; that is, they seemed to enjoy 
each other so well now, when they were young, 
they would naturally love each other when 
older, and the attachment which was so strong 
could meet with no result but a union in some 
after time. She dared not give vent to her own 
inclinations, but continued as usual, but not to 
so great an extent, to show him her favours, 
for she knew if she did, it would be hypocrisy, 
and therefore extended attention to him in 
proportion as she had receded from her former 
feelings by age. 

It was not so witn Ranger — the reverse from 
her — age increased what his youth had feebly 
begun, and as each day brought him in the 
company of Ella, he saw something in her 
which caused him to love her more than he did 
the i yy {previous. In the zeal of his warm 


passion, he lived on her smiles by day, and on 
her image dreamed of bliss by night. 

Such was the case between the doating son 
of Sinford and the beautiful daughter of De 
Blake, when the incident of the first chapter 
of our tale occurred. 

It will be naturally anticipated that Ella 
would seek, if she could with no discredit to 
herself, for some one whom she could love 
better, and whom she could not hold aversion 
to, and she prayed, although yet young, that 
the hopes of the parents would not be fulfilled. 

From the evening that she saw Henry Sher- 
wood, for he bore his mother's name, all the 
little affection she bore Eanger took its flight, 
nor ever after visited the region of her heart. 


The summer, which we mentioned as approach- 
ing, had passed, and with it had fled the gloom 
which the loss of his mother created upon the 
mind of Henry Sherwood. Although he felt 
not now the grief he had first experienced, the 
occurrence was painted as visibly upon his 
mind, and never would it be effaced, but would 
ever linger in his thoughts, to haunt him with 
eontinual painful conjecture. 

His heart was young, and grief soon dies 
away, nor leaves a trace that will be so severely 
felt when long time has advanced, as is felt in 
more mature age. 

The kindness of De Blake had taken the 
eharge of Henry, and gave him a home beneath 
his own roof. 


This was annoying to Ranger, and created a 
feeling of jealousy within him. Although he 
•never refused his company, he owed him a 
grudffe at heart. This suspicion was not 
wholly ungrounded, for he noticed many 
times, when the three were together, that Ella 
smiled more sweetly upon Henry than upon 

Ranger did not retaliate, for he was not 
sure that Henry solicited her regard, or that 
■she bestowed more upon him than was called 
for in the extension of the civilities of friend- 
ship and respect ; yet he feared they were 
together too often for his own comfort, and 
resolved to prevent it by gentle means. He 
•would bestow upon him a kindness that, as he 
was depen dent upon charity, he would not refuse, 
but thank him, without the least suspicion of 
•selfish motives being at the bottom. 

He reverted to his father, and requested 
-him to take . Henry and place him in his store 
as a clerk, for the young man did not like to 
he dependent, without soLie remuneration, 
•upon the charity of any one. 

The father made some objections to his 
■request, and asked some deliberation ; but 
Hanger kneV \is influence over his father, 
and did not leave him till he had consented. 

This offer was extended to Henry, who con- 
sidered it very generous in Eanger, and he 
•embraced it with many thanks to him for the 
kindness and intei-est he took in his welfare. 

"I know not how I shall be able to re- 
munerate you, my kind friend, for thus inter- 
ceding for me. Indeed, you are kind." 


" No, no, my dear fellow, the pleasure I feel 
in assisting you well compensates me for the 
trouble. Indeed, it's no trouble ; for when a 
man does good for the pleasure, and not for 
hire, why, it's no trouble ; it's wages of itself, 
nor needs compensation." 

" I am well assured of your generous feel- 
ings — that they are governed by the strictest 
motives of right," replied Henry, "and may 
you ever prosper in your right worthy pur- 
pose. I presume my inexperience may present 
many difficulties in my new station. " 

"Never fear for that. I shall be most 
happy in assisting you further, if occasion 
calls," he replied in his earnestness, unguard- 
edly emphasizing the word further. 

"You are too kind." 

"Not so kind but I might be kinder," 
replied E,anger, as he bade him good-bye and 
wheeled triumphantly on his heel and retraced 
his steps toward home. 

Henry could not but feel the greatest 
regard for his friend, and cherished him as a 
brother ever after. 

Installed in his new situation, Henry was 
deprived of the company of Ella De Blake and 
Zed, whom he had made his trusty friend. 
Although he dared not think he loved the 
Esquire's daughter, he felt now that he was 
away something in his person he could not 
define. Did he love her, what ! the jewel of 
another's heart? And to his own friend 


could he be so ungenerous ? He shuddered at 
the thought, and banished the idea a thousand 
times from his mind. But still, as his feelings 
drooped by times, this feverish throbbing 
made him think of Ella in spite of all 
his endeavours. Nothing had ever passed 
between them that caused the slightest evi- 
dence that what he felt was founded in truth. 
Why it was he could not tell. Sometimes he 
would resolve to leave the place, and in 
foreign parts forget all he had seen and heard 
of her. But he would as suddenly fly from the 
idea, for he recollected he had not means, and 
then he knew when he reflected that her love 
by an age he could not erase from his mind, 
and would be with him present, there as here. 
If he remained here, he could satisfy an inclina- 
tion at times of seeing her, which for the while 
waa a temporary relief. 

It was one afternoon in the following spring 
when Harry had gained his eighteenth year, 
and a year from the time we have introduced 
him, that he was in the store alone. It was a 
beautiful afternoon in the month of March. 
He began as the beauties of the sun began 
Blowly to decline to his western bed — a fit 
time for romantic thoughts, and love affairs, 
that he began to think of Ella. He counted, 
the days that had ensued between the time 
that he had seen her. He found that it iiad 
been near three months. Wondering why it 
had been so long, he began to conjecture a 
cause. She might be sick — no, that could not 
be, for Zed would have told him as much, not 
confidentially, as a matter of news. But -he 


wanted to see her, and see her he would, if he 
was under the necessity of going personally to 
the house and call on her. "Ah! " he ex- 
-claimed, "there is no use in denying but that 
I love her. Is there any harm when I cannot 
help it. I do not rule my own feelings — but 
'tis God, who is the author of all love. I'll 
write to her and learn my fate at once." 

And as he spoke he seized a pen and paper, 
4tt the writing desk, and commenced — 
"Dear Madam : 

"This bold and intrusive act I hope will be 
pardoned when you consider that the writer 

He read over and over the few words he had 

" Ranger and Ella both will laugh at me for 
this. No, I won't write a letter. Perhaps I 
might write a verse of poetry." 

r*p accordingly commenced as follows : 

" I know not why I love thee, 

Or why thou seemest divine, 
When reason plainly tells me 

Hope can ne'er be mine. 
Yet thy image lingers here, 

Unbidden and unbound, 
My power but feebly guards 

The unruly heart around. 
In love I'd rival none, 

No, I scorn the beggar name, 
Sooner may my heart be stone, 

And never feel its flame." 

Scarcely had he finished writing these linei 
When the fair subject of them entered the store. 

56 THE pirates' league; or, 

Turning to observe who the customer was, he 
discovered it was Ellen De Blake. A nod of 
recognition passed between them, which 
brought a blush to each of their faces. They 
seemed to be rather confused, especially Henry, 
who in his earnestness several times found his 
eyes fastened upon her so steadfastly that he 
was hardly conscious of the meaning of her 

" Have you mitts ? " 

"Yes," replied Henry, taking from the 
shelf a box and placing it before her on the 

"What is the price of these," she asked, 
putting one of them upon her soft velvet hand. 
"Two and threepence," he said, blushing 

Ella then selected a pair, and Henry, after 
using the precaution, dexterously slipped 
another in the place of the one he had seen 
upon her hand, rolled them carefully in a 
paper, and bidding her good day, she departed. 
" Oh, you much honoured little thing," he 
said to the mitt, pulling it from his pocket 
after she had gone. "How blest was thy 
situation upon that fair hand," and he pressed 
it to his lips again. 

" Where is my letter, my poetry that I was 
writing ? " he exclaimed, on going to the desk 
and finding it gone. "Is it possible that I 
have taken that sheet of paper in my absence 
of mind, and used it for wrapping paper. Oh, 
I had rather given anything in the world than 
it should have occurred, so badly executed : 
if the penmanship had been better I would not 


have cared about it. Indeed, I would not 
have it seen for worlds. But I can't help it 
now. She has got it ; she will think what she 
pleases of it, I shall never dare to look her 
in the face again. I hardly dared to before, 
much more now." 


Ella returned, but not as she had done fre- 
quently before from the village. Her mind 
was more than ever filled with the image of 
Henry. "I cannot mistake that glance, it was 
intended for me, — what an expression of feel- 
\ag. Why have we not breathed this to each 
other. There is something in his mind, and it 
is intended for me. Oh, how many pains 
"would be spared — how many sighs and tears 
withheld, could I but know this. Oh, cruel 
fate, that I am compelled to receive the atten- 
tions of a man I do not love. Nay, I almost 
detest Ranger. Henry no doubt but for him 
would have hinted his feelings to me long ago." 

She had now arrived at her own home. 
Although it was -lot far, she had been longer 
than usual. 

She had barely been iveated ana! rested a 
few moments froas the fatigue of her walk 
when Ranger entered, armed and equipped as 
a sportsman. 

"Ah, Ella, returned," he said on entering, 
"heen to the village I understand. Been 
purchasing ? " 

" A few things — a pair ©i' mitts and ©the* 
little trifles." 


" Did you see Henry ?" 

" I — I— did, I bought my mitts of him." 

" Ah ! let me see them — see if he has cheated 

"Cheated me," said Ella with surprise. 
" He cheat ? I should as soon think of you as- 

Ranger felt a little surprised at these words, 
bub a cloud came over his brow. He did nofe 
like their import, things reflected too strongly 
for the interest of Henry. In a calm tone he- 
said, by way of apology, 

"I meant nothing, Ella, why should you 
be offended?" 

To him who was jealous, little things had 
the greatest effect, and they were as soon as 
seen construed to that one point, that he was 
being rivaled. 

After a few moments conversation farther, 
in which he detected some other little things 
that fed the flame of his jealousy, he departed. 

As soon as he was gone, Ella took the paper 
from her pocket, and tremblingly read the 
lines placed upon it. They were evidently 
those of Henry's, it was his handwriting. She 
could scarcely believe what her eyes saw 

" Eow generous he is," she said, " toward* 
Ranger ; he would not love me for the sake of 
rivalship. No, he loves from a purer motive. 
He knows not why he loves me. Ah! Henry, I 
know not why I love thee. How hesitatingly 
he is, how he fears to offend, how he fears to 
flatter me, This I know he did not intend I 
should see, or he would have wrote it more plain. 

" In his thoughtful moments he has done 


this to improve his mind, for it betrays in 
its execution his perplexity and uneasy con- 
dition. Dear Henry, you shall no longer be a 
stranger to my thoughts. I will relieve you, 
your mind shall have at least one joyous 
moment by hearing my declaration, if no 
more," and she ran to her secretary and took 
from it pen, ink, and paper, and commenced 
writing a letter to him ; but she found this 
task more difficult than she supposed. How 
she could convey it to him first occurred to 
her, without suspicion, for she had observed 
that Ranger watched her narrowly. She at 
length threw down the pen, as the thought 
occurred that she had no evidence upon the 
sheet that Henry meant her ; perhaps it was 
intended for some other, and resolved to lay 
the subject by for more deliberate considera- 
tion and evidence that might justify her in 
declaring herself to him. 

Ranger was, from this day's observation, 
well assured that Ella was no longer what she 
had formerly appeared to him. He saw 
plainly that Henry was an object of he* 
regard, and notwithstanding the precaution 
he had used, he perhaps had instilled the 
honied words into her ears, and gained, ovei? 
him, her love ; this could not be otherwise to 
him — from why that paper she unrolled 
from the mitts, and placed so carefully in 
her pocket, for fear he should see it. Did not 
his own eyes read " Dear Madam " upon that 

{>ortion nearest to his sight ; this was a love 
etter — he could think no otherwise than that 
it contained love, a declaration, an entreaty. 


Filled with these thoughts he went toward 
home, plotting on the way how he might rid 
himself of Henry, or separate him so widely 
from Ella that he could have no communica- 
tion with her in any form, either by look, 
word, or writing. 

Ranger's mind was adequate to his purpose, 
and there was nothing but he dared do to 
attain his ends. He was what would be vul- 
garly called a " spoiled child. " Therefore he 
was not long in conjectui'ing some means of 
effecting his purpose 

Mr Sinford had liked Henry so well in his 
capacity, that he entrusted to him in the store 
many responsibilities. 

It was one morning, not many days after 
the incidents named in the preceding chapter, 
that as the chief clerk went to make change 
for a customer, he found there was no money 
in the drawer. He thought strange of this, as 
he knew that he had left a quantity of small 
pieces there the night before. But supposing 
the possibility of his being mistaken in regard 
to his leaving any there, let it pass and thought 
no more of it till he assured himself that there 
was thieving going on by leaving, intentionally, 
a quantity of money in different parts of the 
store to satisfy himself. 

Being well assured that some one was thiev* 
ing he mentioned the circumstance to Sinford, 
who ordered a watch to be set in order thai 
they might detect the burglar. 


Not the least suspicion rested on Henry or 
any one belonging to the establishment. 

Henry, notwithstanding, felt very uneasy 
that it should have occurred when he was 
there, for, although he was innocent, being; 
young and but lately put into the store, yet he 
felt afraid that the crime might be laid to him. 

A watch was accordingly set, and for several 
nights kept up, with the hope of detecting the- 
thief. But he came not — and it was given up 
at last, surmising that the thief, whoever he- 
was, kept an eye on their movements. 

In order to ensure himself of this fact, the 
clerk resolved to watch privately, unknown to 
any one in the establishment, for he began to 
suspect that it was him that he did Dot wish to- 
suspect — Henry, And in order to relieve him- 
self of such ungenerous feelings towards the 
young man whom he so dearly loved, hid 
himself behind the counter, armed for the 

Ranger, whose delighted ears were filled, 
with the reports from the store, lost no time t.> 
put his plans into execution, and to terminate 
them as speedily as possible. Although the 
clerk supposed himself secreted in the store 
unknown to any, yet he had not escaped the 
vigilant eye of Hanger. Now was the time for 
him to discover to the world the one he wished 
to, as the villain. 

Henry had retired to his bed on this night, 
as usual, thinking no harm, and hoping that 
no more burglaries would be committed, for he 
Knew that should there be, he would b« 


But soothing himself from his fears by the 
thought that the innocent would be protected 
by Him who overruleth all things, and offering 
one prayer for the divine blessing upon the 
spirit of Ella, he fell into a quiet slumber. 

Not long had he enjoyed this sweet repose, 
when he was awakened by a loud knocking at 
his chamber door, and upon arising and opening 
it, he found it to be Ranger. 

" Excuse me, Henry, for this late inter- 
ruption, but I was urged to it by the entreaties 
of father that I would come to you and ask you 
if you would go to the store and get his pocket- 
book, which he left in the desk, accidentally. 
He fears somewhat for its safety, after what 
has happened." 

"But how am I to get into the store 
to-night ? Mr Riley has got the keys." 

"Never mind that, here is the key to the 
back entrance, which I brought with me lest 
you should not have the other. " 

"Very well, I will go immediately," said 
Henry, unsuspectingly. 

"You will bring the pocket book to the 

"Yes," he said, as he prepared to dress 
himself, and Ranger departed. 

A few moments were spent, and Henry was 
prepared to execute the supposed commands 
»f his master. Not a thought of' his danger, 
or a supposition that entering the store at this 
time of night would be critical to his safety 
Bhould he be seen, till he arrived at the back 
entrance and placed the key in the door. A 
thought struck him. He trembled with fear. 


How like was this to housebreaking. He 
withdrew his hand from the door handle and 
relented, resolving not to enter. But that the 
property should be safe he would remain all 
night and watch it. 

He contended for some moments with these 
emotions, and assuring himself once more of no 
harm as he was not a robber, advanced to the 
door, turned the key, and opened it. He 
entered cautiously, and knowing the direction 
and position of the desk, concluded he would 
not strike a light. 

He groped in the dark, placing his hands in 
advance of his head lest he should come in 
contact with whatever might be in his 
way to the desk, which he found without 
difficulty. He unlocked it, and opened it, 
thinking the pocket book would be the first 
thing in his reach. It was not there. He 
was filled with fear again that perhaps the 
thief had been there before him. "Perhaps 
it may be in one of the drawers, " he thought 
to himself, but which he could not conceive. 

A light was now necessary, and he searched 
round in quest of the tinder box, which he 
soon found. 

The clerk was still beneath the counter, 
listening tremblingly to the movements of the 
burglar. He knew not how to proceed, 
whether to fire at him in the direction he 
guessed he was, or to strike a light and rush 
out and secure him. 

The former mode he condemned at once, 
for it was ten chances to one that he should 
hit him if he fired. To rush out and secure 


him was hazardous, for the villain might be 
armed and fire upon him. 

So, unprepared, and fearing how to act, he 
remained until he saw that he had struck a 
light, and to his astonishment beheld that 
the person was Henry ; and, when he had 
advanced toward the desk in search of the 
pocket book, beneath which he had placed 
himself, he seized him by the leg and held him 

Henry uttered a shriek of terror, and to his 
astonishment, Riley issued from beneath the 
counter and stood before him. Neither spoke 
a word for some time, for the emotions of each 
were beyond expression, except in their pale 
countenances and trembling limbs. 

"Ah ! then, I have caught you, have I?" 
said the clerk in a melancholy tone, eyeing 
him with pity. 

"Mr Kiley," exclaimed Henry, looking at 
his feet, " my motives are honest ! " 

" Honest ? " reiterated Kiley. 

"Ay, and Heaven knows that I am 

*' How innocent ? " 

" I was sent here." 

"By whom?" 



" Yes : he wished me to come to the store, 
by the express wish of his father, and secure 
the pocket book in the desk, as he feared for 
its safety." 

" Ah,'' said the clerk, taking the light from 
his hand and going to the desk, "then you 


see, it is not here," he said, opening each 
alternately as fast as he could. "Henry, 
Henry, this is false. I fear you are guilty of 
a crime that may cost you your life. Come, 
come with me. I am bound to deliver you 
over to justice. " 

Henry fainted and fell senseless to the floor. 


"Ah! who would have thought it?" said 
Ranger Sinford, entering the apartment in De 
Blake's house the next morning, where were 
seated Ella and the rest of the family. 

"What do you mean?" asked Ella with 
Borne surprise. 

"That Henry would be guilty of theft," 
said Ranger. 

"Henry guilty of theft !" exclaimed they 
all, starting with astonishment. 

" Yes ; he was arrested last night in tha 
store by Mr Riley, in the ac^.of taking money 
from the desk." 

" Oh, Heaven support me ! " exclaimed 
Ella, turning as pale as a sheet. 

"Did he steal anything?" she asked faintta. 

" Not then," said Ranger ; " but the clerk 
has missed money from the store before, and at 
last resolved to watch and detect the thief, if 

"Was he suspected before ? " she earnest^ 

"No, I believe not." 

Henry was carried before Sinford, to whomht 
related all the circumstances that had occurred 


the night before; and, before Ranger demanded 
an affirmative answer to the question, 

*' Ranger Sinford, I demand of you, in the 
presence of your God and these gentlemen 
here, to say that you came to my room and 
desired me to do that which, had it been true, 
was no harm ; but, being false, has made the 
doing of it appear like roguery, and involved 
me in this difficulty." 

Ranger blushed a little at this injunction, 
but assuming a calm and brazen front, denied 
all knowledge of the proceedings. 

Thus stood Henry, a condemned yet inno- 
cent youth. All hope was now gone, and he 
sank down into a chair stupefied. 

Ella De Blake had been entreating her 
father to use all his efforts to save Henry from 
the fate that awaited him. Accordingly, he re- 
paired to Sinford's house, where his intercession 
at length procured Henry's release, on condition 
that he would leave that part of the country. 

He hurried to his lodgings rejoicing that he 
came off so well, and prepared himself for 
a departure, whither he knew not. 

As it was early in the day, he thought he 
would call on his benefactor and thank him for 
his kind interference in his behalf. 

As he drew near the house, recollections of 
many things were exciting his bosom. His 
lone and forlorn condition arose in a full tide 
aiid engulfed his soul. 

Then there were the many little ties that 
bind one to a spot on earth, and as he neared 
the house, he leaned upon the gate by the 
road-side for support, resolving to go no farther. 


He had not remained there long before Zed 
spied him, who was ia the enclosure, and came 
running towards him with all possible speed. 

"Now, Master Henry, this is a tarnation 
hard job for ye any how. " 

" Have you nothing to say by the way of 
encouragement, Zed?" asked Henry, fearing 
that by his silence he had incurred his distrust. 

" None believe you guilty," said Zed, "but 
those who accuse you. I believe some infernal 
scheme is going on to injure you. Come, let's 
go to the house, perhaps you'd like to say good- 
bye to Ella and the rest of the folks." 

" Yes, but do they not believe me guilty?'* 

"Not a bit, not a bit," said Zed, pulling 
him by the hand. 

Henry reluctantly obeyed, and Zed led him 
to the house. 

After bidding them adieu and thanking the 
Esquire, Henry took his leave and proceeded, 
the way he had entered, into the road, 

A3 he was passing through the garden he 
heard a light step behind him. On turning 
round he beheld Ells- <ho stopped and looked 
very much confused. 

Who could describe the boundless joy that 
filled the bosom of Henry. He could well bear 
now the contumely of a world, knowing that 
he had the forgiveness and confidence of one 
who was more than the world to him. 

Although the lovers expected never to 
behold each other again, they unburdened 
their hearts of a load that had hung gloomily 
upon them. This was a great relief, and 
Henry arose, kissed the fair forehead of Eila 


De Blake, bade her adieu, and with a light 
heart wended his way down the road, occasion- 
ally turning his eye back to catch another view 
of the spot where dwelt one whom he loved. 

Let us follow Henry to the city of Boston, 
whether he bent his way. 

Henry found employment in a store in 

Washington Street. The firm of C & Co. 

was the wealthiest that the town could boast. 

Here he gained the confidence of his em- 
ployers, and soon was the head clerk of the 
establishment. What carried him to this 
station in so short a time was the manifestation 
of his fidelity for the interest of his employers. 

Henry was a student in his leisure hours, 
and his habit of much study brought on a 
desire to become a proficient in learning. He 
wished a profession. A quiet observance of 
things and appearances among men had enabled 
him to judge of his own merits and abilities. 
He thought he might cultivate to the most 
advantage and profit his intellectual faculties. 

The amount he had now realised presented 
an opportunity of acquiring an education in a 
profession, as his primary studies had been 
gone through, which he thought would be the 
law. The law in the rising of his useful 
ambition he saw was the most direct road to 
public distinction and honour. r 

Accordingly he made known to his employer, 

Mr C , his intentions, who, though sorry 

to lose him, congratulated him on his resolu- 
tion, with many assurances that he wouhl be 
his friend and protector in need. 



Five years have passed since our imagination, 
reader, has been made acquainted with the 
supposed events mentioned in the first chapter 
of our story. 

Let us now return to that part of Vermont 
we first saw Henry and his mother wending 
their solitary ways across the country in quest 
of a shelter and a home. There is not so much 
of wildness in the country as it formerly pre- 
sented — houses appear more thickly, and spots 
of cleared land around them speak well of 

As we pass again the delightful dwelling of 
Esquire de Blake, on our way to the village of 
Montpelier, as our next scene will be there, 
we discover nothing but disorder and con- 
fusion. What is the cause of this hue? The 
spoiler has been there. Eor why has negli- 
gence taken the supreme rule over everj'thing 
pertaining to the once beautiful home of Ella 
De Blake. Where can she be ? The once so 
beautiful, when with her growing womanhood 
it should have increased to full bloom, the 
admiration of all. 

Yes, gentle reader, she is still beautiful, 
but the rose has partially faded, her cheek 
wears but a tint of its former glow. But how 
came this ? Ask her not, for her heart is too 
full of feeling for her poor father, who has been 
unfortunate. It is not her own sorrow but his 
which she suffers — that has robbed her of heT 
bloom. In the village, reader, to which we 
^fll g°j- J 0VL will see her. In a small tene- 


ment in a low but neat cottage in a by street, 
lives the once wealthy Esquire de Blake, with 
his only daughter and child for his companion. 
By his daily toil he manages to get enough 
to support himself in a tidy manner. Ella 
takes the charge of their little apartment, 
and manages the household affairs with becom- 
ing cheerfulness. Her mother is dead, and the- 
only pleasure she now feels is in pleasing her 
surviving parent, who bears with great forti- 
tude, by his dau^hte^'s consolation, the mis- 
fortunes of his life. 

As we look into the snug little room, we 
discover the occupants sitting near the window 
facing each other, looking out at the passers- 
by. De Blake looks as nearly as possible as he 
used to, except that a few gray hairs have 
stole into his dark auburn hair, and care made 
a visible impression on his countenance. How 
beautiful Ella looks, although somewhat pale. 

"Father, do not sigh at what cannot be- 
helped. Our lot is hard but many have harder 
ones than we." 

"Ah! my chilu, my dear Ella, I cannot 
always suppress my emotions, they come so 
strongly upon my heart that I often give way. 
Sinford, why should he be so villanous," ex- 
claimed De Blake, warmly ; " when I thought 
the business settled by the compromise for 
Henry, he still persisted to ruin me in a suit- 
at-law, founded neither on right or justice. 
Oh, this is enough to drive one to madness." 

The two remained for some moments bathed 
in tears, their hearts filled with painful emo- 
tions. At last De Blake broke silence. 


"This Sinford," he added, unwilling to 
give up the subject, " has incurred a dis- 
pleasure against me some way or other — 
heaven only knows how ; but this act it is far 
beyond any human feelings can bear ; it is an 
act that should glut the most brutal revenge — 
death would not have been half the cruelty." 

"I am glad, father, it is no worse. For my 

Eart I can consent to 'smile in tears,' if 
eaven has designed it so, to the day of my 

It was not many days after the above- 
mentioned interview between the father and 
daughter in distress, when the latter was 
thrown almost into a state of frenzy by the 
arrest of the former on an indictment of 

A great excitement was in the village, and 
everybody was flocking to the farm and 
meadow which it was known was once owned 
by Esquire de Blake. In the meadow, beneath 
an old fallen pine tree, had been found, on 
semoving it for some purpose by the workmen 
of Sinford, a human skeleton, and a dagger 
known by many to have been or in the 
possession of the esquire. The mysterious 
disappearance of a lady some years before was 
.now thought to be accounted for ; she had 
been murdered by some one s-nd buried there. 
The dagger was recognised, and it was pro- 
bable that it could not have been used by any 
other but its owner — ie., no evidence could be 
had to this effect. The lady was seen at De 
Blake's house by Sinford, and she" had fainted 


upon her first seeing him, which indicated 
strongly against him that some difficulty must 
have occurred between them previously. The 
lady, it was conjectured by many, had with her 
the cause of difficulty, and rather than incur 
the charge she might urge against him, he had 
put her quietly out of the way. 

Ella was seated by her window one or two 
evenings after the avrest of her father, when she 
was aroused from her gloomy thoughts by the 
sound of a well known voice near her, and 
looking up she discovered it to be Zed. He 
was so altered that she scarcely knew him. 
His tidy habit and improved look almost made 
him an entire stranger. At the sight of him, 
for he had been absent years, she seemed to 
forget herself, and appeared to be transported 
with joy But as soon as he inquired for her 
father, he* grief returned with redoubled force. 

" Why, mistress Ella, what has happened ?" 

"Father has been arrested for murder." 

"Murder!" exclaimed Zed, "Oh! hor- 
rible ! when did it happen ? " 

" Some years ago. it is said," returned the 
forlorn girl, resuming her weeping. 

"Some years ago!" reiterated Zed, "by 
Judas I have it," he said quickly. He seized 
his hat, and placing it upon his head, left 
the house. 

Zed had not proceeded far when he was meu 
by a genteely dressed gentleman whom he did 
not know. 

" Why, Zed, don't you know me," said tha 

" No, sir." 


" "V\rhat, not know me ? — Henry." 

"Yes, yes," said Zed, again scrutinizing him 
for a moment, and then gripping his hand 
firmly, he gave it a hearty shake. 

" Why, Zed, you seem to have spruced up 
a little ; where have you been— living in the 
village— left De Blake's ? " 

" Yes, long ago ; poor man ! he seems to 
have been quite unfortunate since I went off 
into the city to live." 

"Unfortunate— how, Zed ?" 

"Lost his property, and that aint all either." 

" What else ? " said Henry, eagerly. 
"Where is Ellen?" 

" She lives in that alley down there. She 
told me just now that her father had been 
thrown into prison." 

"For what?" _ 

" It has been discovered that a lady — no- 
Henry—" hesitated Zed. " Your mother." 

" My mother," exclaimed Henry, with 
astonishment. "What would you say?" he 

"That it is supposed he murdered her. 
Eut she is not dead," continued Zed. 

" Does she live, then ? " asked Henry, gasp- 
ing for breath. 


"Zed, I will not make myself known to 
any one yet, but we will proceed to learn the 
state of affairs concerning De Blake, and devise 
the means to set him at liberty. I will not go 
where my mother is, but we will now go to the 
prison and seek an interview with the prisoner." 



Dark was the fate that seemed to hang oveir 
the destiny of the poor but innocent De Blake. 
No one was allowed to enter his cell but his 
keeper, and consequently he was startled from 
a short slumber by the announcement of two 
strangers. They were no other than H enry and 
Zed, who had bribed the jailor to let them have 
a word with the prisoner. 

"You are the unfortunate who is confined 
here for the crime of murder," said Henry. 
"What have you to say for yourself in answer 
to this dreadful charge ? " 

'* I have said all an innocent man could say 
— no more than I believed to be true. " 

" We are friends come to offer you consola- 
tion. We would assist you to bear up against 
the great trial that awaits you." 

" I am glad of friends ; but what want you 

"We would have you confess your crime, 
that God may pardon you, and prepare you 
for your doom. It is an awful thing to die 
without hope," added Henry, in a graver tone. 

"It is indeed sin— but to confess what I 
know nothing of, would not be confession. I 
have only to say I am innocent." 

"But have you no connection with this 
affair directly or indirectly. 

"I have had a connection with it — but I 
am innocent The confession I might make, as 
I have no evictence to clear me, would in my 
critical situation only reflect more to the 
proving I am guilty." 


" But j'ou must not withhold this, sir. It 
may be the very evidence that will save you. " 

De Blake then related to the stranger all 
the particulars of the supposed murder, which 
have already been described. 

" This is enough," said Henry, " You are 
innocent I believe, and we shall endeavour to 
make the most of it in effecting your release, 
and proving your innocence." 

" Thanks, sir; may heaven direct you." 

Having ascertained all they wished, the 
strangers took their leave of De Blake. 

" We shall be able to effect his release, Zed, 
or at least to prove his innocence with regard 
to the murder of my mother," said Henry. 

" Yes," said Zed, " I recollect, now that he 
mentioned it, of seeing the dagger in Sinford's 
hand when he went out of the house." 

" This you can swear to, Zed." 

" My Bible oath on it," said Zed. 

"This buckle shows that the ghost was a 
material one, as it also shows another passed, 
that it knocked you down by your running 
into it." 

"Another proof who it was," said Zed, "by 
it's name being on the buckle." 


" Yes, Sinford's name. He must have been 
the ghost, for he appeared next morning with 
ene buckle. " 

'« You saw him." 

" I did. He questioned me as to whether 1 
had found one between his house and De 
Blake's. I said no. I did not dare to mention 
where I found it, or let him know I had found 


one, as the ghost made me swear never to men- 
tion a syllable of what happened that night." 

"You kept your oath strictly till you con- 
vinced yourself that it was not a ghost ? " 

" Yes." 

After thus scanning the matter to their 
satisfaction, Henry and Zed took up their 
lodgings in the village to await the day of trial. 

Henry was now a graduate from college, and 
the profession of law he had become proficient 
in. He could comprehend the most complex 
part of it, and he determined to appear as counsel 
for De Blake- 


The day arrived. The jurors were set, and 
all the proof that could be had was brought 
forth necessary to condemnation. Sinford, 
with a brazen front — with a lie upon his 
tongue — arose and gave his testimony of what 
he knew, which seemed conclusive to the court. 

The evidence for the defence was called for. 
The court was silent for some time, when Henry 
at length arose and addressedthe court as follows : 

"Gentlemen of the Jury, — There appears 
In this transaction a mystery that remains yet 
to be unravelled before you are to decide upon 
the point of life or death 1 am a stranger to 
you, but I am no stranger to the wronged, and 
claiming the right to do good wherever I can, 
and having an interest in the prisoner, I have 
taken upon myself the obligation to defend him 
in this extremity. To proceed, I wish the wit- 
ness who has just left the stand to resume it." 


The court was astonished with the manner 
and tone in which this speech was uttered ; 
and Sinford, as he resumed the stand which he 
had just left, began to tremble. 

" Your name is Sinford ?" asked Henry. 

"Yes, sir." 

" And resided once nenr De Blake's ? " 

"Yes, sir." 

" You were there on fne evening the travel- 
lers called at his house ? " 

"I was, sir." 

*' What was your business ?" 

" Merely a friendly call. " 

"Nothing passed in the evening about a 

" Nothing." 

" Did any one enter the room while you 
and De Blake were in conversation ? " 

"No, sir," answered Sinford, a little 

" At what hour did you return home ? " 

" About nine o'clock." 

"You stated before that two travellers 
stopped at De Blake's in the evening about six ; 
that you were there ; that the lady fainted oa 
seeing De Blake." 

Henry now begged leave that the oourfc 
would listen to his evidence, and Zed, after 
being called to the stand in the usual manner 
and sworn, stated facts which made the eyes 
of many start from their sockets, especially 
those of Sinford, who rose with rage, and 
boisterously exclaimed that it was false. 

"It is not false," exclaimed a female, rush- 
ing into the court-room. 


"Gentlemen of the Jury," said Sinford, 
«' this is a plot against my life. I affirm that it 
is false." 

" Oh, thou wicked and perjured man. Deny 
it K thou canst — deny it to the woman whom 
thou hast so wrongly used. " 

"What dost thou mean — who are you, 
woman ? " 

" Look upon this scar, which you made with 
your own hand, and then ask me who I am, " 
she said gently to the jurors; " the identical 
woman who was supposed to be murdered. 
You are not Sinford, but William De Blake, 
th«* brother of yonder innocent man." 

A stillness followed this annunciation that 
could be audibly felt. They all gazed upon 
the woman with breathless astonishment. 

At length the judge arose and said — 

" Although the prisoner at the bar is ex- 
onerated from this supposed murder, another 
■till lies upon him. 

" The trunk or skeleton found buried on his 
land, beneath the tree, must be cleared before 
ihis liberty is assured. For this he was arrested, 
and must answer for it. The court will now 
proceed to the business." 

This seemed a death-blow to all that had been 
done for poor De Blake. Henry knew not what 
to do, and Zed looked upon him, as he sat near 
him, expecting that he would say something. 

The cour*- was about to adjourn, when the 
old Indian,. Noman, who had been crouched 
down in one corner, advanced toward the stand, 
Mtd stated in the following words : — 

"Me know something about the killed 


man. Me had been in the parts scarce two 
moons, before any white man was here, when 
me got into a quarrel with my squaw and kill 
her. Me buried her there. Me was sorry for 
it, for me love her ; but me was mad, then me 
no think of love, but mad. Me have lived 
here ever since. Me no go with my tribe ; ma 
no like the world not at all. Me was going 
over the meadow one night. Me know that 
lady lying on the ground. Me have compas- 
sion and take her up, and carry her to my hut, 
and keep her from dying. The wound in the 
heart no heel till she be well. " 

This was enough to clear De Blake, and he 
was set at liberty, and the wicked Sinford took 
his place, and was remanded to prison to await 
his trial for an attempt to murder. The court 
had no jurisdiction over the Indian, as the crime 
was committed before the settlers came to that 
part of the country. 

In the first place, the joy that Ella De Blake 
experienced at her father's release, and hia 
absolute innocence established by a disclosure 
of before unseen facts, was inexpressible. So, 
also, was that joy felt by the mother at the 
restoration of her long lost son, and the son, at 
the restoration of the long lost mother. ^ Zed 
had now made a favourable impression upon 
the heart of Dorothy, who, instead of slighting 
him, courted him as if afraid that she should 
lose him, while her mother rubbed her handa 
for joy that she was to have so likely a soa-ia- 


law, and she congratulated Mrs Stanwood that 
Bhe had at last found that comfort the restora- 
tion of her sen afforded her. 

De Blake and his daughter were again happy, 
but as yet were ignorant to whom they owed 
their thanks for this timely interference. 

They were seated one fine evening, as usual, 
at their window expressing their joys and wish 
to know who their benefactor was when he 
Suddenly entered. 

De Blake arose, and bowing slowly presented 
a seat, at the same time introducing hia 
daughter — Ella, who blushed deeply and seem- 
ed confused at something she knew not what, 
and she chided herself for this awkward con- 

At length she said, " Sir, we owe you much 
for your kindness." 

" Nothing more than I presume you may 
abundantly pay," replied Henry. 

" How, sir ? " asked the father. 

"By giving me yo'„.T daughter's hand in 
marriage ! " 

Henry then made himself known, and De 
Blake willingly gave his consent to their union. 
A fainting of joy came over Ella at the dis- 
covery, and she fell swooning in Henry's arms. 

It was a few weeks after the above circum- 
stances that Mr De Blake was requested by a 
messenger to visit Sinford in his cell, when he 
confessed to him that he was his brother Wil- 
liam, and had thus concealed his name that he 
might seek revenge on him for the affray that 
took place on his father's premises, and adding 
that he still believed him guilty of an attempt 


to murder him, and would hear no confession 
to the contrary from De Blake. He declared 
that he was innocent of the charge for which 
he was arraigned and convicted. 

As we leave the Green mountain we proceed 
to the city of Boston — Boston as it was before 
the revolution — not bearing the gorgeous 
appendages it does now. The bright sun had 
gone down, and twilight had grown dim. 

Boston harbour on this evening was very 

But only >ne vessel could be seen, which, 
we observe, is very peculiar in its rig. Her 
masts inclined much toward the stern, and 
were rather stunted. Her spars were very 
long, and calculated to carry a heavy press of 
«ail. She was painted black, with a scarlet 
band running around her waste, and with red 
lining to her port-holes which are raised, dis- 
playing eight guns to a side. Her bulwarks 
were very high — as high as a man's head, and 
her hammock nettings were stowed like those 
of a man-of-war. She sat very low in the 
water, and was very sharp in the bows ; her 
model was exquisite, and moulded with taste 
and symmetry. She was about two hundred 
tons burden, and presented no poop-deck, being 
flush fore and aft. 

Her decks were neatly kept from rubbish, 
and clean, the rigging was coiled upon deck in 
the -most tasteful manner ; her scuppers were 
clean, and shone bright as polished brass. A 


small swivel gun was mounted in a superb 
manner upon the taffrail, and one of a like- 
description upon her bow, we observe, and a 
Long Tom amidships. In short, she presents- 
a most formidable appearance, as though she 
were fitted for a tough engagement as well a» 
skimming the water with bird-like speed. 

Upon her quarter deck are standing two 
persons leaning over her side, watching the 
fading tints of twilight, and the silver moon 
just peeping from the opposite horizon. 

One's visage seems light, and his feature* 
those of an American, while the other had 
huge black whiskers, and the complexion and 
features of a Spaniard. 

"This, you say, is the place of your birth," 
said the Spaniard. 

"Yes," replied the American, " I was born 
in this country." 

" It's reasonable to suppose that the sight 
of one's native land should inspire us with feel- 
ings such as we have experienced in our 

" Ah ! Pedro, it might have been to me yet 
a land of happiness — but alas ! — no more of 
this," he added, quickly ; " these emotions are 
not deserving of me. I must cherisli those of 
an opposite character." 

" What place is yonder town ?" asked the 

" Boston," said the Captain. " It is some 
forty miles further into the country I wish to 
proceed — the journey I was speaking about 

" Can you perform it without danger? " 


" Perfectly ; with this cloak wrapped around 
me I can conceal all traces of ray profession. " 

" As you are a pirate in disguise," ex- 
claimed Pedro, "you would do well to wear a 
citizen's hat. : ' 

"Pedro," said he at length, "I am not in 
the humour now for jesting. Let the boat be 
lowered and manned, and I will take advantage 
©f this bright moon and be off." 

The boat was lowered and four men leaped 
into it, and like an arrow it bounded over the 
Bilvery surface of the waters. 


Ranger Sinfgrd, after he had, as he thought, 
effected the ruin of Henry Stan wood, followed 
him to the city, without, however, knowing 
whither Henry had gone. Here he plodded 
on in the low circle he had chosen, and soon ' 
was without the means of living, his father 
refusing longer to furnish him with supplies. 

The love which he had cherished for Ella 
De Blake served to withdraw him from his 
reforming determinations, inasmuch as he now 
felt a spirit of retaliation and revenge ; that 
she had refused him flatly to longer receive his 
addresses, and moreover charging him with 
the design, and sole conspirator, of involving 
Henry in trouble through a spirit of avarice. 

All plans failing to procure him the means 
to subsist on, he, with another of his own 
colour in thought and reputation, resolved on 
pilfering and robbing. 

These two accomplices in crime entered the 


store of the rich firm with which Henry waa 
connected, the result of which the reader ia 
already acquainted with. 

The poor wretch who was shot, luckily for 
Ranger, was his companion. He escaped jus- 
tice, and in fear left the city. He shipped on 
board a vessel in the harbour, and sailed for 
the West Indies, in which place he remained 
for two years in quietness and tranquillity — 
the fright of the encounter and the overthrow 
he met with in Boston operating as a restraint 
upon any designing plots of mischief in his 
mind. His winning and ingenious address 
won for him in that place of fashion and 
gaiety, Havana, a circle of rich and warm 

But his honours were almost invariably 
bestowed on one fair Senora, Isabella del 

«. It was in her father s family that the dis- 
tinguished foreigner, our hero, the famous 
Monsieur de Allaha, was invited gratuitously 
to take up his quarters. 

Upon the fair Isabella he placed his affec- 
tions, and received a favourable hearing. She 
was beautiful beyond description. 

" You have assured yourself of the full 
consent of my father you say, my dear Mon- 
sieur," said the litt]e beauty, as they one even- 
ing sat in the drawing-room of Don Cusca's 
splendid mansion. 

"I have, sweet,''' he said; "and now for 
yours, which remains the only barrier to the 
consummation of our happiness. Speak and all 
iis cleared away." 


"Some future time," interrupted she, "we 
may presume to talk of decision. " 


The fortunes of our adventurer were, as he> 
feared, to be turned to his disadvantage. 

One evening he was ready, as he thought, 
at the appointed time. He waited anxiously 
in the drawing room for the appearance of 
Isabella, but she appeared not. 

It was now dark, and Ranger made his way 
through the lighted streets with all possible 
speed, and was soon at the entrance of a saloon. 
He mounted the stairs, and a few more steps- 
brought him to the hall. 

The evening wore away, he led to the floor 
every beauty in the whole assembly, but no- 
thing was to be seen of Isabella. 

In the midst of his wanderings he cast a 
careless eye into the hall, and, to his amaze- 
ment, he beheld the beautiful and lovely 
creature of his thoughts waltzing with a gallant 
Spanish gentleman. He started to his feet in 
amazement ; could he believe his own eyes T 
could that be Isabella ? He turned away in a 
fury, hi3 passion rose almost, so as to be ob- 
servable by the company. Smothering his 
almost bursting heart, which filled with hor- 
rible epithets, until the waltzing was over, he- 
very deliberately took the Spaniard aside, and 
impudently asked — 

"What are your intentions; with yonder 

" Insulting scoundrel ! " exclaimed th* 


Spaniard in a rage, and loud enough to be heard 
all over the saloon. " Withdraw what yon 
have dared to insult me with, or I'll demand 

" I demand a proper answer to my question, 
as I am most intimately concerned in her 

" Whose ? " exclaimed the Spaniard. "Isa- 
bella de Cascara's did you say ? " 

" Aye, did you not hear me ?" proudly re- 
plied Monsieur. ' ' Isabella de Cascara." 

"Hell and fury," he exclaimed at these 
words, and he laid his hand upon his throat, 
but he was prevented from doing violence by 
the intervention of several gentlemen, who 
separated the two, so hostile to each other, 
until their rage should be quelled. 

The party now dispersed in the utmost con- 
fusion, with many wonderings and surprise 
among those unacquainted with the point of 
difficulty between the distinguished gentle- 

Monsieur was much chagrined at this un- 
expected turn in affairs. 

He resolved not to go again to Cascara's 
haase until he had justified the matter to his 
perfect satisfaction ; and accordingly took up 
Ids lodgings in the Hotel de Gaffa for the night, 
As the Spaniard had taken to himself the pro- 
tection of Isabella, he made no attempt to gain 
an acceptance to accompany her home, but at 
a distance dogged them to their home. Mon- 
sieur observed as they reached the door of the 
mansion, and were alighting from the carriage, 
that they remained at the door on the outside 


In earnest conversation. He drew near, and 
the substance he understood as follows : 

"Isabella," said the Spaniard, "what am 1 
to make of what I have heard and experienced 

"Do not speak as if you would chide ; as if 
you thought I had been unfaithful to you in 
your absence, Bernardo ! " 

"Ah, Isabella, what shall I think — you— 
no, could you — what claim has he, that he dares 
thus to insult Bernardo del Corpo. You know 

" Hear, Bernardo," replied she, catching him 
by the arm and drawing him to her, as he had 
stepped back in the earnestness of his expres- 
sion. " But my father bade mo do thus ! " 

"How may I be assured of this, Isabella?" 
asked Bernardo, still doubting her credulity, 
and yet inclined not to. "' Would you marrj 
me at all hazards ? " 

"That I would, even if my father persisted.' 

" Then will I still love you ; thou art again 
my dear, my adored Isabella. " 

He now embraced her, and imprinting a 
heaity kiss upon her forehead, which made the 
heart of our Monsieur, who was within hearing 
almost burst. So he muttered a few oaths by 
the way of cursing his own cowardly disposi- 
tion, and soon reached his own lodgings. 

He entered his room, and resolved upon a 
mode of revenge. 

" I'll fight a duel with him. I shall engage 
him. I can trust to my abilities with the broad 
sword, or small one ; I'll try it at least. Suet 
insult I will not brook." 


He sat down to his table, and, seizing a pen 
and paper, wrote a challenge, and immediately 
despatched a courier with it. 


Bernardo del Corpo was the son of a respect- 
able and wealthy merchant in Havana. He 
had been cradled in the lap of wealth, and 
educated in a manner the great means his 
father afforded. 

He was exceedingly handsome in appear- 
ance. He was the beau ideal of the most 
fashionable circles. Such was the person and 
character of Bernardo del Corpo, the rival of 
our pretending Monsieur, and the true lover 
of Isabella del Cascara. 

Nothing could exceed the mortification 
which followed when the parents discovered 
the affection that was springing up between 
their children. 

Bernardo was sent to Europe, where he re- 
mained some five years, and it is at his return 
that we have introduced him to the reader. 

Bernardo sat in his chamber on the evening 
we have mentioned above, and after the events 
related, pondering upon them with no little 
excitability — his honour had been grossly 
insulted, and he felt he could not brook such 

He was just on the point of taking his pen 
in hand when his servant entered, handed him 
a letter, and retired. 

This was found to be a challenge from 
Monsieur De Allaha, which he at once accepted. 


As the morning sun gilded the steeples and 
played upon the thousands of masts with 
which the harbour was filled, presenting the 
appearance of a dry forest, Bernardo was at his 
post ; his servant for his second ; for he needed 
no other, being well assured that he would kill 
his man. He took no surgeon. All was 
silent, when his servant informed him that his 
opponent had arrived. They then drew up, 
and prepared for a severe encounter, which 
gave the Frenchman every advantage, wha 
ran him through the body ; and the young 
Spaniard, uttering a fearful groan, fell pale 
and weltering in his gore. 

"It's finished!" said our Monsieur to his 
second ; and, turning upon his heel, walked 
deliberately away, with as much composure as 
if he had killed a dog. 

Isabella del Cascara, as soon as the news 
reached her of Bernardo del Corpo's death, in 
a fit of passion made her way to the hotel oc- 
cupied fey Monsieur De Allaha. Armed with 
a dagger, she noiselessly gained admittance to 
his chamber, and would have inflicted dire 
revenge had not the Monsieur, by a dexterous 
movement, eluded her blow and made his 

Many were the investigations made for the 
apprehension of the murderer of Bernardo, 
who was well known and much respected ; but 
the Monsieur soon made these of no avail by 
his speedy departure for sea in his piratical 

Cruising one day off the coast, on the 
borders of which De Blake's farm was situ- 


ated, Monsieur De Allaha, or, as he is better 
known, Captain Ranger Sinford, determined, 
•with the aid of two or three of his desperadoes, 
to abduct the fair Ella, and in this vile purpose 
he was successful. 

About the time these events were occur- 
ring, Henry Stanwood, in the isolation and 
hard studies to which he was subjecting him- 
self, prior to his debut as a full-fledged lawyer, 
and more particularly because of his forced 
separation from her upon whom his heart was 
so fondly set, grew gloomy and despondent, 
and was .advised by his medical attendant to 
betake himself to a sea voyage. This he at 
last consented to do, and left the port of 
Boston, in the hope of soon returning renewed 
in health and spirits. 

For the first day or two after leaving port 
the canvas lay loosely against the masts, be- 
cause there was no wind. 

At last they reached the open sea, and a 
light breeze springing up, the noble craft, feel- 
ing the impulse, soon stood on her course. 

The ship was bound to Havana, where she 
intended to take a cargo for Europe. A few 
more days had passed, and they were sailing 
down the eastern coast of Cuba with a fair 
wind. Nothing was to be seen above the 
horizon at sea, and the light breeze dashed 
them along with great rapidity. She had all 
aail set, expecting to drop into the harbour of 
Havana before dusk. 

Henry amused himself now, and endea- 
voured to drown his thoughts by the novelty 
of the appearance of the country. 


An hour had passed, and Henry mused un- 
interruptedly when he was roused to consci- 
ousness by the sound of — 

" Sail, ho ! " from the man at the look-out. 

" Where away ? " returned the captain, who 
had been pacing the quarter-deck, but now 
stopped suddenly to answer to the exclama- 
tions — 

" Over our starboard quarter," returned 
the same voice at the look-out. 

The stranger, notwithstanding the great 
speed of the Maria, gained miraculously upon 
her, and in an hour more she was within hail- 
ing distance, and all were startled with horror 
by a heavy voice bounding over the water from 
the stranger. 

" What ship is that ? " 

"The Maria, of Boston," returned the cap- 
tain. " What ship is that ? " he added. 

There was no answer ; but at that moment 
a black flag was seen flying at the mast-head. 

" Death's head and cross-bones ! " exclaimed 
the captain, shivering. " Mr Mason, have the 
crew brought out ; we must make a defence." 

At this moment another sound rang in their 
ears from the pirate, in tones of command. 

•' Haul too, or I will fire into you." 

The ship hove to ; and the pirate run her 
bows in athwart the ship, jus,! abaft the fore« 

All was now lost, for the pirates rushed on 
board like bees, and y in a few moments the 
crew of the Maria, with her captain and mate, 
were heaped together on deck, though they 
sold their lives dearly, except one, Henry 


Stanwood, who had done the work in that 
dreadful encounter of two ordinary men. 

"Stand off," he shouted in tones of thunder, 
throwing himself into an attitude of defence 
that caused the pirates to stop in their ad' 

"Bravo ! bravo ! " shouted a voice from the 
piratical schooner who appeared by his attire 
to be the captain- "He is a brave fellow! 
spare him and bring him on board." 

Henry could not have any great reluctance to 
this, and proceeded on board with the pirates, 
who took what specie there was on board, and 
then set fire to the ship. At sunset, the pirate 
was again lodged in her place of concealment. 

About six or seven miles from Matanzas, 
among the huge beds of limestone that skirt 
the banks of a small river, is a cave of suffici- 
ent dimensions to admit a vessel, if her yards 
were hauled closely up, leading to a beautiful 
basin, where could repose a vessel in perfect 
security, without being discovered from the 

This was the harbour and concealment of 
the Sea Gull and her murderous crew. To 
this spot they immediately repaired, and 
dropped their anchor in the little bay after the 
capture of the Maria, and all proceeded in the 
boat to the cave whose entrance was visible 
after they were fairly within the basin. 

"He is a royal fellow, Pedro," said Captain 
Blowell, " for we discover it to be him, ' re- 
ferring to Henry, " he has energy enough to 
whip a whole ship's crew." 


" Does he consent to become one of ns ? " 

" He has made no serious objection, and I 
intend to have him initiated this very night, 
before he may have an opportunity to escape." 

This conversation ensued between the cap- 
tain and bis mate. 

Henry was that night taken and blind- 
folded, a rope tied about his wrists, and for 
a few moments left alone in total darkness. 

Suddenly the bandages were removed from 
his eyes, and such a burst of splendour flashed 
upon him, that he could but believe that it 
was a transportation to heaven ; but these 
thoughts were soon put to flight by his observ- 
ing, kneeling in every direction around him, 
men clothed in red, their heads turned towards 
a kind of throne, upon which was seated a 
female form, her dress covered with innumer- 
able diamonds sparkling in the light. By the 
melancholy cast of her countenance he could 
but fear some awful fate was to befal her. She 
was exceedingly beautiful, and his pity was 
already moved in her behalf. As he stood 
gazing upon her, a door opened in the opposite 
wall and another female entered, not so hand- 
some in her countenance as the first, but more 
masculine in her proportions and outline of 
features. She walked firmly and quickly up 
to the trembling female upon the throne, and 
taking her by the hand led her to the floor, 
and asked her in a low voice, but loud enough 
for Henry to hear, "Do you still persist in 
your obstinacy?" 

The maiden, as she appeared, merely bowed 
in affirmative. 

94 THE pirates' league; or, 

Taking a sword, she led the victim towards 
Henry till within some live or six paces, where 
she stopped and spake to him. 

"Do you still swear to abide by the oath 
you have taken to consecrate your life and ser- 
vices to the will of the evil one ? " 

" Whatwouldst thou have me do? " asked 
Henry, earnestly. 

" Take this sword," said she at length, pre- 
senting him with the handle, "and this hand," 
she added, leading the girl nearer. Henry 
felt all the horrors of his situation, and at these 
words his blood chilled in his veins. He 
stretched out his hand and took the sword, 
and the other to grasp the fair hand stretched 
towards him. He shivered in every joint. He 
could not move. 

"This is the test of thy steadfastness," said 
the woman, "the red bank the mark for thy 
sword. Strike and thou art true ; but refuse 
and all the tribe of hell shall be upon thee." 

All was silent. Henry glanced around him, 
and discovered among others the features of 
the captain. He knew not whether to obey or 
not. Who could his victim be ? Some miser- 
able female unfit to live, or one innocent and 

While thus reflecting, the lovely creature, 
lifting her face from the ground, whither it had 
been bent until now, in a disconsolate but 
clear tone, said — 

" Despatch me quickly — this delay is worse 
than death !" 

Henry seemed startled at this willingness 
to die, and the tone of her voice operated like 


jnagic upon his nerves. He thought he had 
heard it before. He stared wildly upon her. 

" It cannot be Ella," whispered Henry. 

" Henry ! " reiterated she, in the same tone 
■of voice. 

""lis she!" exclaimed the astonished and 
overjoyed Henry, clasping her in his arms. 

"Thy Ella, Henry," she exclaimed, at the 
eame moment rushing towards him. 

At this unexpected turn in the affairs, the 
men all started to their feet, and the captain 
•rushed towards the loving pair with a loud 
exclamation for them to desist. 

"Standoff!" exclaimed Henry, his voice 
echoing like thunder in his ears. " Is it thus," 
lie added, turning to the captain, "you would 
implicate me in crime? Murder my own 
bride! Villain!" 

"Lay hold of him! " shouted the captain, 
drawing his sword and advancing. 

"Now for the disputed power!" shouted 
Henry, as the captain fell groaning to the 
ground with an incision through his body in 
the region of the heart. Bereft of their leader, 
the men dared not venture any further attack 
— they had been daunted before, and they 
dared not lift their arms to strike .* blow. 

Seeing that all hostile appearances were at 
an end, Henry turned his attention to Ella, 
who had swooned away and fallen to the 
ground. Raising her in his arms, he soon re- 
stored her to consciousness. 

Henry found himself the sole master of all 
that belonged to Captain Blowell. 

He took what treasure he wished for, and 

96 THE pirates' league. 

in the course of two weeks the happy Henry 
landed on the wharf at Boston with the lovely 
Ella by his side. 

Ella had informed Henry of her usage 
while in the hands of the Pirate, and who ha 
was — Ranger Sinford — and that it was a custom 
with the league, on the initiation of a new 
member, to sacrifice a female to test their un- 
flinching fidelity. 

De Blake sunk under the weight of his 
woes, and died when his daughter was on her 
way to revive him. 

Before his decease, he had recovered his pro- 
perty. Old Sawyer Grubb, with whom the 
administration of the property of Sinford had 
been entrusted, acknowledged, on his death- 
bed, that the papers which were the points of 
dispute between the neighbours, were forged 
by his own hand at the request of Sinford. 

In due time Henry and Ella were united in 
the old but beautiful farm-house where they 
had first seen each other. They, however, 
returned to the city, giving to Zed and Dorothy 
the farm for their fidelity to Mrs Stanwood. 












I'm a great sinner, reader, a graceless one at least, 
for I never say "grace" before dinner; and 
on the same principle when I spin a yarn, I 
don't intend to ■write a preface to it, for if ic is 
good, preface won't better it any ; if it is bad, 
a preface won't save it from your condemna- 
tion ; so here we go, all sail set, sheets flowing 
and colours flung out, off upon a cruise. 

Did you ever see Hurl Gate, or Hell Gate, 
as the old Knickerbocker Dutchmen used to 
call it (a place in the Sound, at the upper end 
of New York), when its ever-boiling " pot " is 
running over, mad with the effects of a regular 
north-east gale ? If you have not, you have 
missed a sight, as the girl said to th". country- 
man who hadn't seen the elephant. 

Our yarn commences in the month of Nov- 
ember, 1778, a time when our noble forefathers 
were fighting like tigers to secure the rights 
and liberties which we now. with but too littla 


; gratitude, enjoy. The trees were now nearly 
stripped of their "yellow sheen," and the 
wind whistled through their branches, as it 
would through the rigging of a '"74." The 
hour was midnight. Upon a point which 
•stretches out just at the southern entrance of 
Hurl Gate, forming the outer part of a small 
cove which lies hidden almost entirely from 
the Sound, to the westward of the " Gate," 
stood a short, thick-set man, one who, like the 
body of French wit, was as broad as he was 
long. His dress was a mixture of the sailor's 
and landsman ; his grey hairs were covered 
with a tarpaulin hat, a thick pea-jacket of 
home-made woollen, coloured with butternut 
bark, enveloped the upper portion of his form, 
while the lower part was encased in tight 
knee-breeches of the same ; low-quartered 
shoes, with large brass buckles, covering his 
feet, which, indeed- were feet, mechanically 

He was a huge, hardy-looking customer, 
one whose red face, wrinkled and scarred con- 
siderably, seemed like a map of character ; his 
'Small, but very bright grey eyes, peered out 
from a cliff-like brow, and his rough beard, of 
perchance a week's growth, stuck out, like the 
quills of a young porcupine, in all directions. 

In his mouth there was a short stump of a 
pipe, from which he ever and anon drew a 
hearty puff of smoke, which, for the moment, 
would wreath about his face like fog around a 
rock, and then vanish. 

In one hand he carried a large, knotty 
<.st*dgel; in the other he held a lantern — not 


one of our modern ''globes," but a big tin 
lantern, with a door of isinglass, through 
which considerable light was reflected from a 
fat tallow candle, which occupied the socket 
within. As he stood under the thick branches 
of the trees on this point, he held the door of 
the lantern to the south, where the East River, 
for a long stretch, was entirely open to view, 
from his location, when it was light enough to 
see it. 

' ' Dunder and blitzen, but it's tam'd cold," 
said our friend, as he shrugged up his shoul- 
ders, and bending down seemed to look along 
the water to the south. "If dat Captain 
Ballentine can peat his schooner up against 

such a wint, den Hans Nipperhausen eh! 

is dat a light on de water ? " 

The worthy Hans Nipperhausen bent once 
again low down toward the ground and scanned 
the gloom to the southward, where a small 
light like a star, low down with the horizon, 
could be seen, and after intently gazing at it 
some time, raised up, and again muttered, 
" Yes, it is a light, and it must pe he, for no- 
pody put a man in love — or in liquor — would 
come nigh Helle-gat such a night as this. I 
must go to de point, for it'll pe tarn close work 
for him to get in to-night." 

As he said this, our Dutch friend walked 
down upon the extreme point of black rocks, 
so close that the surf dashed up against his 
body, and held the light clear up in view. In 
the meantime, the light which, in the distance, 
had at first nearly borne south from him now 
aaemed rapidly to pass off to the eastward, bat 


ia a few moments it seemed again to move to 
the west, thus showing plainly that it was on 
board of a vessel, and that the vessel was beat- 
ing up against the wind. 

And now the query would be, what waa 
she that could thus pass up through a channel 
occupied by the cruisers and gun-boats of the 
English, who at this time held New York and 
its environs : and -why she had a light in her 
bows, which was so shitted at every tack that 
it could only be seen from the northward and 
not from the city, or any vessel that might be- 
a 4 ; anchor in the river astern. 

But leaving these fancies for a moment, we- 
will take a look at a building which stands 
upon the crest of a hill which overhangs the- 
cove, about five hundred yards back from the- 
spot where we left Hans Nipperhausen stand- 
ing with his lantern. 

It is an olden-time looking stone house, and 
is the residence of Mynheer Dietrich Van 
Twiller, who is the son of old Wouter Von 
Twiller, who originally owned all of Manhattan 
Island, which he purchased of the Indians for 
the merest trifle. 

Let me introduce to you Katrine Van 
Twiller, the only daughter of Mynheer Diet- 
rich. She is sitting alone in a little room, 
which forms a gable that overlooks the cove of 
which we have spoken, There is a neat little 
work-table by her side, on it stands a candle, 
which is so placed as to front the window. It 
!B possible that this disposition of the light is 
intentional, for she ever and anon gazes out of 
the window, with a look of impatient anxiety, 


peering through the branches which grow so 
■close that they could be reached by her hand. 
She evidently is expecting a visitor. 

Katrine, though not a beauty, according 
to the usual taste of the world, is a very fine- 
looking girl. Her form, indeed, is very per- 
fect j it is full, very plump, yet well-shaped. 
Her close-fitting sleeve displays a large, but 
finely-rounded arm ; her dress closely-fitting, 
shows a full and noble bust, which, in its swel* 
ling proportions, denote that she has arrived at 
the age of womanhood ; as she bends forward 
to look out of the window, she exhibits a foot 
and ankle which might be gazed upon with 
envy by many a southern belle. 

As we before said, she is rather large, but 
her size is so well-proportioned, that it only 
adds to her beauty. 

She shuddered as she heard the harsh 
whistling of the heavy gale, and as once mora 
she looked out into the gloom she murmured— 

" It will be impossible for him to come in 
to-night, the wind is 'Sua heavy, and it is very 
dark. Even Han. Nipperhausen's lantern 
could not help him much on such a night as this." 

Her accent was slightly German as she 
spoke, but her words were purely English, as 
if her education had been well attended to. 

"It is useless to hope, it is now so late," 
sighed the lady, as she started at the sound of 
i;he time-teller ; " he could not get in, and per- 
haps it is best. Yet he wrote me he would be 
here to-night ! " — and again the maiden sighed 
as if her heart was running over with the di»« 


As she sighed, something very like an echo 
to the sound caused her to start suddenly and 
turn round toward the door of her apartment, 
and as she did so, she found herself in the arms 
of — a man. 

We doubt not but she would have screamed 
with afright or surprise, but the intruder 
pressed his lips so closely to hers, in a long, 
warm kiss, that she had no chance to do so, 
and as she gazed upon him with her large, blue 
eyes, she did not attempt to escape from his 
embrace, therefore we may infer that he was 
not an unwelcome visitor. 

As soon as he withdrew his lips from hers, 
while yet her face was suffused with rich 
blushes, she exclaimed, 

" Oh. Hunt, how could you do so ? You are 
enough to frighten one to death." 

" You don't seem much frightened, dearest," 
replied the person whom she addressed, who 
was a fine-looking young man, nearly sis feet 
high, with an elegant figure, hair curling and 
jetty black, and fine expressive features ; " but 
you were sighing so sadly when I entered, that 
I thought I would frighten the blues away if 

' ' T was sad, dear Hunt, because I thought 
you would not come to-night, the weather was 
go stormy and the night so dark " 

" That made it only more safe and easy for 
me to keep my promise. I've slipped by the 
enemy without being discovered at all ; and my 
noble little schooner, the ' Ocean Queen, 5 lays 
ia the cove down here as safe as if there wasn't 
an English frigate afloat, and besides, if yoi* 


know Hunt Ballentine, you know him to be 
one who never waits for wind or tide when his 
promise is given." 

" I know you are punctual, dear Hunt, but 
how is my brother — is Karl well, will he ever 
make a sailor ? " 

" He's as good a sailor now as ever trod a 

" But is not Karl coming on shore ? " 

"No: he preferred not; he told me to 
give his love to you, and this kiss, " replied the 
other, bestowing the latter upon the lips of his 
fair companion, and then adding — 

"You know, dearest, that I have only a 
couple of hours to stay in here ; I must be out 
of this before daylight comes on, to show my 
'Ocean Queen ' to the English bull dogs — they 
have been on her track so often that they 
know her but too well." 

"Yes, and I fear that that knowledge may 
yet lead to her capture and your destruction. 
Do you keep that large painting on her sail 
yet, which marks her as far as she can be 
seen ? " 

" Just lend me a light a minute, and I'll 
show you," replied the sailor, leading her 
toward the window. 

Three times he raised the light -u. the win- 
dow, and each time passed it out of sight, and 
then in a few moments after replaced it as it 

At this moment the bright glare of a blue 
light gleamed up from the deck of a vessel in the 
Bpve, showing for a time, as clear as day, eacli 
ebpe and object upon her spars and about her 


decks. She was a fore-topsail schooner, with 
masts very taut and raking j her fore-topsail 
clewed up, her foresail in the brails, and her 
head sails hauled down. Her mainsail was 
hoisted, and on it could be seen painted in full 
size, and at full length, the semblance of a 
woman, one strangely like Miss Katrine. 

From the mast head of this vessel waved a 
red flag, having the words, "Ocean Queen," 
embroidered in silver upon it — from her gaff 
fluttered the flag of our country. 

" Isn't she a beauty? " said the young com- 
mander, as he gazed at his schooner with pride. 
"I gave them directions before I left to show 
her to you, if I made signal to them. Do you 
see Karl ? — he stands there by the helm— see, 
he waves his sword to us." 

" Yes, I see him," replied the sister ; " and 
your vessel is indeed beautiful." 

"She would be far more beautiful to me, 
if my Katrine was there in person to share 
my cabin," replied the other ; then again 

Jointing toward his vessel, he added, " You 
on't observe my new figure-head, Katrine. 
It is one that I had put upon her when I was 
in Cherburg, last cruise, and it is a curious 
piece of work." 

The maiden now gazed more closely upon 
ft, and observed that it was the statue of a 
woman of very large size, not standing oufe 
olear of the bows of the vessel, as figure-heads 
morally do, but set right in the cut- water, or, 
fact, forming it. 

This, too, at the distance, seemed to look 
Uke her ; and as she gazed upon it she said,— • 


" What a singular taste you have, Hunt ; 
but in what is it so curious this new figure- 
head of j^ours ? " 

The young captain smiled as he said, — 

" My men say that it is bewitched, for when 
we come in shore her eyes turn green, her face 
is paler, and she wears an angry look, but when 
we turn our prow to seaward, and get an offing, 
her eyes again become as blue as your own, 
and she seems satisfied ! " 

' ' But you don't believe such nonsense ! " 
eaid Katrine. 

He smiled again, and simply answered, — 
" Sailors are very superstitious, you know! " 

When again they looked toward the vessel, 
the blue light was extinguished — nothing could 
he seen in the gloom to indicate her presence- 
nothing heard save the whistling gale. 

There yet stands an old building, just back of 
the Battery, in New York, which, at the time 
©ur history commences, was occupied as 
" quarters " by a number of British officers.-— 
Here, at all hours, one could hear the clatter- . 
ing of wine glasses, and the laughter of wild 
and careless men ; until the small hours of 
the morning could be heard their festive songs 
and shouts of revelry — many and deep were 
their carousals. 

They gamble.., and drank, and sung their 
time away, as garrisoned soldiers but too often 
do, even in the present day. 

At the table— on an occasion when occurred 


the following incidents — there were many of 
the army and a few of the naval officers pre- 
sent, and they seemed half -seas over. 

The sailors were a little better ballasted 
than the others ; and were, with one excep- 
tion, more sober than their brethren of the 
other service. 

This exception was a young man of twenty- 
four or five years of age ; one who, were it not 
for the evident marks of dissipation upon his 
face, would be considered very handsome. He 
Was tall, well-shaped, had eyes of keen but 
liquid black, hair of the same colour, features 
regular and noble— but his complexion was 
red with the stain of debauchery, and his 
eyes were sunken and his cheeks bloated. 
Let him be made known to you as Lieutenant 
Dorsey, of the Eoyal Navy. 

The others seemed to be bent on making 
him drunker still, or, in professional parlance, 
determined to "lay him under the table," for, 
though he was now scarcely able to sit up, 
they called upon him for a toast. 

Filling up his glass with some sparkling 
sherry, the young officer cried, — 

' ' Here's Kate Van Twiller, the sweetest 
rebel and the prettiest girl in America ! " and 
drank off his glass to the last drop. 

''Kate Van Twiller!" was the universal 
cry of the rest, as they drank the toast, and 
then came the inquiry from one, — 

" Who is she, Dorset? — where is your 
beauty ? let us know, and give us a chance to 
judge for ourselves. " 

" I'll tell you who she is and where she is, 


but blast my eyes ! if any of you can get a peep 
at her. I've hard work enough to see her 

" Well, heave ahead and tell us where your 
paragon holds forth." 

"She's the only daughter of a man that 
can call three millions his own at this hour, 
but you are right about my getting acquainted 
with her on one of my break-neck rides, as you- 
call them. " 

" Do spin us the yarn," cried the others. 

" Well, I will : — I was riding out up along; 
the Sound shore of the island, about ten days 
ago, and was going at the rate of twelve or 
fourteen knots past an old Dutch mansion, 
just abreast of Hell Gate, when a big black 
Newfoundland dog jumps out from the gate 
way, right before my horse. He got scared, 
slewed himself round as quick as lightning, 
and landed me against a pile of rocks in such 
a way that I saw stars at noon-day. It knocked 
my senses out of me completely, and when 
they came to me, I found myself very com- 
fortably stowed away in a nice bed, with a 
pretty girl in the room watching me. Well, 
as soon as she saw that I had come to, she 
slips off and calls her old father, and he and a 
Dutch doctor, a kind of family attendant, 
came in, and with their help I was soon on my 
feet again." 

" Did you see her again ? " 

" Yes ; but only once, for she was timid as 
a fawn, but she shall soon get used to the sight 
of me. I've been twice to see her, and both 
times she was excused by the old folks ; but 


I'll be d d if I don't see her before 

long ! " 

' ' Bravo ! old fellow ! " cried several of the 
mess; "and you must introduce your friends 
— 'Beauty and Booty' is our motto, yon 

" Well, I will, when I get her in train and 
properly broken in ! " replied the other, and 
then added, — " I'd like to finger a million or 
bo of the old 'un's dollars. It's a sin that they 
should lie idle. " 

"So it is," replied the rest; "can't you 
invent an excuse for confiscation, and let us go 
shares ? " 

" I don't know ; but these old Dutchmen 
are deep as the ocean — you can't iind them out. 
And the girl is a rebellious one I know, for she 
even looked at my uniform with a glance of 
hatred ; and, after 1 had recovered from my 
fall, gave me as wide a wake as if I'd been a 
pirate. " 

" Well, if she's a rebel you must captivate 
her ! " 

" Just what I intend to do — she shall be 
mine, by fair means or foul, and that is what 
I swore when I first saw her, and you all know 
whether Frank Dorsey is a man to back from 
his determination ! " 

~*l Well, here's lack to you in anothpr glass ! " 
shouted the revelling crew — and again the 
young debauchee filled a bumper. 

In a few moments he arose from the table 
gtxul reeled to a sofa, whereoa he tumbled and 
'.yas soon wrapped in sleep. At last but two 
were left. 


One of these was an elderly, very red faced! 
individual — one who gave outward sign of 
being one of that peculiar class who never get 
blue ; one whose very body seem3 to be of a 
spongy nature, enabling them to "soak up'' 
any amount of liquor without feeling its 
effects. His uniform was that of a lieutenant 
in the navy; and his having arrived at no 
higher grade, although grey-headed, spoke not 
well for his character. 

His companion was of the army, and as ha 
pointed towards the stupified Dorsey, asked : — 

" Who is that young fellow — Dorsey, I 
mean ? " 

"Well, Frank Dorsey is first lieutenant of 
the schooner ' Harpy; ' he is the jolliest fellow 
on a spree, the best shot in a scrape, and the 
keenest dog on a woman's trail that there is on 
the station ! " 

"Truly, you give him a good character," 
replied the other ; "but I mean, who is he a$ 
home ? — who is his father, and what is his 
family ? " 

" Well, I've heard it hinted that a certain 
Count B., of French origin, who resides in Eng- 
land, sends him money, and got him promoted 
to his present situation. He never speaks of 
his parents, but he shot poor M'Keever for 
insinuating that one Miss P. , of London, looked 
very like him, and was about old enough to 
be his mother ; and I have heard that this 
Miss P. and Count B. were very fond of cruis- 
ing in the same latitudes ! " 

" So, so ! — and he is a regular libertines, 
duellist, and — does he gamble ? " 


" Yes, often ; and lie has the luck of 
the very devil ! He won all my last month's 
pay! " 

' ' "Well, if men will play with fire, they must 
expect to get their fingers burned ! " replied 
the other, and then added — "let us take 
another glass and adjourn ! " 

Bidding the other good night, he passed out 
from the room to go to his quarters. As he 
stepped out, he drew his martial cloak closely 
around his tall, manly form. 

Just as he reached his own door a long, 
vivid flash of lightning lit up the river in his 
front, and to his surprise he saw a vessel 
scudding down before the gale under a very 
heavy press of canvas. 

He got but a single glance at her, and could 
only note that she was an armed and well- 
manned topsail schooner, and that she was 
carrying a tremendous press of sail for such a 
blast, which he saw no necessity for, if she 
was not some vessel of the American fleet 
endeavouring to get to sea before the day 
set in. 

While he was gazing, his suspicions and 
hopes seemed to be both realised, for the red 
flash of a gun glared in the gloom towards the 
" Narrows," and ere its dull report had reached 
his ear, another and then another showed that 
something was wrong upon the water. 

Then soon after, signal rockets were seen 
streaming up in the air, and blue lights were 
shown from the different vessels, giving notice 
of a general alarm. 


At the close of our first chapter, we left 
Hunt Ballentine and Katrine Van Twiller 
enjoying a lover's tete-a-tete in her father's 
house, while the worthy old gentleman was 
s-ound asleep. 

We will now return to them, some two and 
a-half hours having elapsed, -which they have, 
we doubt not, spent very happily, in such con- 
verse as pure, warm loving hearts can best 
enjoy. We will break in upon them at the 
moment when the young captain arose and 
said — 

"Dear Kate, I must be off. I've now 
stayed a full haif hour over my time, and I 
must go. But good night. See, it is now 
almost dawn, and I've a regular gauntlet to 
run. You'll see me when the moon is gone, at 
this time next month, if I have to come in a 
row-boat. There now, good night." As the 
*ailor said this, he pressed another warm kiss 
±o her lips, and then, with a step as noiseless 
as that with which he entered, he left the 

When he reached the door he found our old 
friend, Hans Nipperhausen, sleeping on the 
thick corn-shuck mat, where he had left him to 
act as sentinel. His lantern stood beside him, 
and being aroused, the old fellow arose, and with 
it proceeded to light the young captain down the 
hill side toward his vessel, through the thick 
undergrowth which grew upon the steep. 

'• A cold raw night is this, Hans," saicC the 
captain to the attendant as they hurried along. 


"Here's something to buy some schnaps withy 
to keep you warm on such nights ;" and the 
captain handed him a purse. ' ' And Hans, you 
must be very careful never to say that you saw 
anlAmerican privateer come into Helle-gat cove 
at midnight, and sail again before dawn. It 
might give your master trouble." 

•■ Hans never talks mooch," replied the man. 

By this time the two had arrived at the 
water side, and here a boat, manned by sis 
hard-faced old tars, lay ready for the com- 
mander. He sprang into it, and within another 
minute was standing upon the deck of his 
beautiful schooner. 

As he put his foot over the gunwale, he 
cried, — 

" Up anchor, Mr Barnacle — we've been here 
too long already." 

"Aye, aye, sir," responded a rough, manly- 
looking person of about thirty-five or forty 
years, who was standing by the hatchway of 
the cabin, from which & light reflected upon his 
face and form, and then he added, — 

" Hoist away the head sails — sheet home 
the topsail — loose top-gallan' sail, and let flow 
the main sheet ! ' ,nd as those orders were 
obeyed, the schooner's bows gracefully fell off 
before the wind, and in a moment she was 
dashing out from the quiet liitle cove into the 
boiling waters of Helle-gat. 

Guided by the lantern of Hans, who had 
hurried down to the point, they swept safely 
out into the East River, and now taking a 
compass course they headed down the bay. 

"We must crowd the cloth on her, cap* 


tain," said the first lieutenant, Barnacle. 
" We've but little more than an hour to day- 
light, and these flashes of lightning paint up 
the water entirely too plain for our safety. " 

" True," replied young Ballentine. " Give 
her the square sail and loose the main gaff top- 

These sails were soon spread to the roaring 
blast, and with every spar bending and creak- 
ing with the weight of canvas, the beautiful 
vessel rushed swiftly through the foam. 

The Battery, Governor's Island, Castle 
William — all were safely passed, and yet the 
dawn did not pale the east, thanks to the 
darkness of the storm, yet they were not out 
of danger, for in "the Narrows" below them 
lay a cordon of English vessels, which they 
ihad passed in going up, only by being taken 
for a tender to a " 74," the Endymion, which 
was cruising outside the Hook. 

"Keep a bright look-out on both bows and 
ahead," cried the watchful lieutenant; "and 
if you see anything, pass the word aft, in low 
tones to one another — we must keep as still as 
eats in a dark room." 

" See that every light is extinguished, but 
have all ready for action," added the com- 
mander ; and then turning to the young officer 
who stood at the helm, he said — 

" You must be quick with the wheel, Karl, 
if we are hailed ; if we run afoul of anything 

Soing at this rata, it would send us all to king- 
om come ! " 
At this moment, while he was giving th# 
caution, the word was passed from the bows : 


"A light right ahead ! port your helm ! " 
Quick as thought the helm was put aport, 

and the next moment they swept close past a 

fleet of vessels. 


We must now change the scene of our tale. 

The mother country had hardly realised in. 
its full force the momentous nature of the 
struggle which was then in progress — a struggle 
which caused Columbia to spring forth, armed 
cap-a-pie, like a lovelier and better Minerva, 
into the world. 

Some of the denizens of Albion were, how- 
ever, united by ties of kindred, friendship, or 
business very strongly to the young republic. 

Among those who took an interest in the 
American war was the person whom we are 
about to introduce to our pages. 

In his chamber, in an ancient castle on the 
sea-coast of England, that portion of which, 
under the name of Peveril's Point, juts out 
into the British Channel, sat a very singular- 
looking old gentleman ; one who, by purchase,' 
had become the proprietor of the beautiful 
estate of Melcomb, on which was situated the 
old castle which we allude to. 

The gentleman, by his grey ha xs, pale and 
care-worn face, and attenuated form, seemed 
to be one who had felt many a rude gale in his 
life-cruise, which, according to his appearance, 
might have lasted some sixty-five years or 
thereabouts, though he was still erect in his 


The height of his forehead, which was 
square, and not receding, coupled with the 
deep lines upon it, gave token that he was one 
whose mind was active, and his general 
appearance was intellectual and sage-like. 

He was alone in his chamber, seated beside 
a table, reading a letter which he had just 
taken from a package which lay before him. 
His face was flushed, and the contents of the 
letter seemed anything but pleasing to him, 
for after perusing, he cast it down, arose 
angrily from the table, and commenced pacing 
up and down the room. 

' ' So, so ! This is the end of all my pains 
with that froward boy — he, a born nobleman, 
a descendant from a line of kings, has dared to 
side with a party who declare all men to be 
born ' free and equal. ' It is strange that he so 
proud, so like myself, should so forget his 
birth and dignity. The next I hear, he will 
be hung as a traitor to the country in which he 
was born, or perhaps in battle fall a sacrifice to 
his madness. He must not remain there. I 
will recall him, and if he dare to refuse obedi- 
ence I will disinherit him ! What hath he to 
do with the quarrel between England and her 
colonies, and why should he side with the 

Still as he spoke, to and fro strode the old 
man, until at last he became more calm, and 
again approaching the table, rang a little bell 
which wa3 upon it. 

In a few moments a servant, an old grey 
headed man, opened the outer door, and ap* 
proaching, said — 


" You rang, my lord ? " 

"Yes, Ricard; I want your advice before 
I undertake a journey in my old age. I fear 
that it has become necessary for me to go to 
America. My boy, the son upou whom I have 
centred my very soul, out of some foolish freak, 
of romance, has joined the rebels who are in 
arms against King George ! " 

" And what would you do, my lord ? " asked 
the servant. 

" Do, sirrah ! I would reclaim him from 
his act of folly. He, an heir to the purest 
title that ever graced a noble name, turn into 
a Republican ! No! it shall not be— he is my 
only son and " 

"Your only son, my lord? " and the servant 
emphasised deeply the words as he made this 

"My only acknowledged son ! " replied the 
nobleman; "why need you hint at another?" 

" Because I thought my lord had forgotten 
him," replied the servant. 

" No, Ricard, I have not forgotten him, nor 
he me, as will appear in a letter lying on the 
table, in which he asks me for five hundred 
pounds, giving as his reason that he has been 
promoted to a first lieutenancy, and his ex- 
penses thereby increased." 

" It seems a pity, my lord, that Master 
Hunt had not entered the royal navy." 

"It were better, than that he should be 
serving where he is now is," replied the other 
— "but I spoke of going to America." 

"You wish to meet your son in person ? " 

"Yes, if it is possible." 


" I think it would be impossible ; there is 
no port wherein you could find him, I'll war- 
rant, for the coast will soon be lined with his 
Majesty's cruisers." 

"Well, what would you propose?— I must 
try to save him, and recall him from his 

" Can you not send him letters ? " 

" How ? — he is a rebel now ; the king's 
mail would not be a proper conveyance." 

"You can send it by private hand, and it 
can reach him." 

"By whom? I think that no one could do- 
it so well as myself." 

" I could serve you as faithfully in this as I 
have in other things, my lord." 

"You have been faithful and true, Eicard,"' 
said the nobleman, thoughtfully, " but I think 
in this case it would be better that we both 
should visit America together. We can adopt 
some safe disguise and remain unknown, 
while we make our plans and put them in 

" It is for you to order, my lord, and for m& 
to obey," replied the servant, who, notwith- 
standing his apparent humility, seemed to have 
a wayward and wilful spirit. 

" We will go," responded the other — " w* 
will go, therefore make all the preparations as 
soon as possible. I will not lose my only sob 
and heir without an effort to save him." 

"Your only son !" said the servant, in an 
under tone, not heard by hia master, as ha 
turned to leave the room, and a singular snee? 
accompanied the remark. 


We owe an apology, reader, for having left 
our hero, Captain Ballentine, and his beautiful 
clipper, the " Ocean Queen," in a scrape, and 
having left you in suspense regarding their 

When daylight came, they were yet inside 
of the Hook. 

In their wake were several English ships 
and vessels of war, all making sail in chase ; 
but for these, Ballentine had little care, he 
knew that he could outsail them. Yet his 
cheek grew pale and a shadow of anxious care 
darkened his face when he saw the white sails 
of a large line -of -battle ship loom up from just 
outside the bar, and he knew that her bat- 
teries would be a hard gauntlet to run, if, in- 
deed, it were possible to get by her. 

" What do you think of this ? " said he, 
turning to Mr Barnacle, who, with his spy- 
glass, had been very deliberately engaged in a 
general survey of their position. 

" I think we're m a pretty bad box, but I 
have been in as bad before," replied the 

"How are we to get out of it ? " 

"Run out of it, sir, of course, if we can — 
but that bloody shark outside the bar will be 
apt to bother us some." 

" Yes, he may cut up our spars and disable 
fyer, and then we'll be taken. " 

"Not while the barkie swims, or I live, 
Captain," replied the other. "I don't want 
to find my berth in one of their rotten prison- 
ships ; I'd rather slip my cable at once, and die 
like a man." 


" You are right, my brave fellow ; and 
never shall that flag come down while I have 
life. If they take us. they'll have to sink us 

This conversation, unconsciously to the 
speakers, had been carried on in a tone suffi- 
ciently audible for the crew to hear it, and when 
their commander expressed the last sentiment, 
they burst out into a hearty cheer, which rang 
like a yell of defiance over the waters through 
which they were swiftly dashing. 

The vessel outside seemed to have dis- 
covered them, for she now hoisted the ensign 
of St George at her gaff, and shook out the 
reefs in her topsails, as if to get her ready for 
working easily. 

She also hauled close in to the bar, so as 
completely to shut in the " Ocean Queen," 
which vessel was too well known by all the 
cruisers ou the coast not now to be recognised. 

She was now standing right out for the 
English "74," whose distance was not more 
than a couple of miles, and there were several 
vessels still nearer in her wake. 

The wind was on her larboard quarter, 
enabling all of her sails to draw well, and had 
it not been for the cruiser ahead, she could 
easily have escaped from those astern. 

"I must do something to keep that fellow 
off out of gun shot," cried Ballentine , and 
then, as he glanced from one end of the bar 
to the other, a plan seemed to suggest itself to 
his mind, for he cried, — 

'* Man the braces, my lads, and stand by 
all the sheets. Be lively now, and don't let 


go of a sheet or brace till I give the order. 

Round in the weather braces, slack off tht 
aheets. Karl, head her off dead before the 

This manoeuvre caused the vessel to head 
•down the coast, and it now seemed to be her 
commander's intention to slip close along the 
beach, and by this means elude the larger 
vessel. The latter seemed to comprehend the 
idea, and instantly her helm was put up, more 
•sail made, and she bore away to the south- 
ward, under a cloud of canvas, with a course 
"to intercept the schooner. 

" That's all right, she'll be a mile to lee- 
ward before she can take in sail and haul upon 
the wind ! " cried Ballentine, while his face 
grew brighter. Then turning to Karl, he 
cried, — 

•' Hard down the helm, and luff her on a 
wind, my lad." 

In a moment the schooner's course was 
changed, she heading right up along the Long 
Island shore, high enough to look through the 
" swash," or small channel at the northern end 
of the bar. 

The " 74 " saw the new change in her course, 
and luffed as soon as possible, but, as Ballen- 
tine had predicted, she was so much more slow 
and unwieldy than the schooner, that she lost 
nearly two miles by the ruse, and now there 
•seemed a chance of the latter getting out clear 
before the Englishman could regain his lost 

The ruse which he had been forced to 
adopt, while it bettered his position with his 


outside customer, had enabled the others to 
gain on him, and he saw that he was now 
within the range of two of them, one a 
schooner, nearly the size of his own, the othe? 
a fast sailing corvette, which had chased him 

He had hardly noticed this when a shot 
from one of the bow guns of the corvette 
whistled by a few fathoms astern of him, dash- 
ing up the water as it ricochetfced along, across 
the bar. 

The old lieutenant looked at this and shook 
his head. 

" Bad work this would be if one of their 
shot were to hit a spar," said he ; and then, aa 
if his words were prophetic, crash cam© 
another, and they saw their maintopgallant- 
mast hanging by^ its rigging. 

"Lay aloft and clear away the wreck — 
quick, my lads," cried the young commander. 

' ' By the holy pipers but we may be thankful 
for those shot," cried Barnacle, as he looked 
over the side ; "the schooner is going at least 
two knots faster now than before. She had 
too much canvas on her. I thought she 
laboured harder than she ought. " 

" So she is," responded Ballentine ; "bear a 
hand, aloft there, and get in those flapping sails 
— keep her luff, Karl. One mile more and we 
can shut in the point and get clear of their tire. " 

Shot after shot from the pursuing vessels 
now whistled past them, but none struck her, 
and within five minutes the desired point was 
gained, and they were free from the shot of 
their pursuers for the time. 


"What schooner was that in the chase?" 
asked Ballentine of his first lieutenant, after 
they had got everything secured and repaired 

"The 'Harpy,' sir; she was built for a 
smuggler, but sold to the British Government 
when the war broke out." 

" She shall be mine before another month's 
pay has become due to her officers," said 

"How will you take her, when she keeps 
in port all the time, under the wings of the 
heavier craft ? She never comes out to give 
you a chance." 

" Then I'll take my chance inside with the 
boats, as I did with the ' Fire-fly.' " 

" Sail ho ! " cried the look-out from the 
forward cross-trees, at this instant. 

" Where is she ? Can you make out her 
rig ? " asked the captain. 

" She's a ship, sir, standing in for the land." 

" A man-o'-war ? " 

" I can't see anything, sir, to show it — her 
sails don't look square enough." 

" Well, keep a bright look-out on her, and 
report if you can make out anything else." 

"Aye, aye, sir." 


Whew the officers met at dinner on the day 
after the night in which occurred the debaucn 
described in the third chapter, the subject of 
■conversation was the daring venture of the 


*' Ocean Queen " into the harbour, and her 
subsequent escape. 

"I wonder what reason her commander had 
for running such a, risk ? " asked the army officer 
whom we described as having been the last at 
the table on the preceding night- ' ' I presume 
the fellow came in for some fresh grub." 

"Well, I hope he got it," answered the 
other ; "it would be a pity for him to take so 
much trouble for nothing. It seems strange to 
me that he should get away so easy." 

" This is not the strangest of his escapes, by 
any means," replied Dorsey ; "her captain is 
for ever doing some saucy thing or other. It 
was he that cut out the ' Fire-fly ' — it was he 
that took the tender of the 'Endymion,' and 
then made a fire-ship of her, and came within 
an ace of burning the old ' 74 ' before her 
officers and crew smelt the rat. He has done 
more mischief than all the rest of the privateers 
on the coast." 

" Why do you not take him ? " 

"His craft sails like a witch — he knows 
■every inch of the coast, and you might as well 
chase the ' Flying Dutchman,' for he is about 
as hard to get hold of. But we'll have him 

" I should like to know why he came in on 
such a stormy night as last night was." 

"Because it was the only time he could 
hope to pass our fleet safely; had he been an 
hour earlier in going out, perhaps he would 
never have been seen by our vessels at all." 

" What could a privateer have that was 
important to any rebels near us ? " 


" News from France, perhaps ; or she might 
have captured some ammunition with which 
to supply the rebels." 

" That is true, but if she came in last night, 
Bhe could not have gone far to get out again so 

" She may have been in the Sound for some 

" No ; she was reported as seen at sea but 
two days ago by the ' Orpheus,' which arrived 
yesterday. The frigate tried to catch her, but 
'twas useless for her to try. The schooner left 
her as if she were at anchor." 

" Some woman has perhaps led her brave 
skipper into the adventure. Men, you know, 
will risk more to see a pretty girl than for 
anything else. I've no doubt you'd let your 
horse throw you again to get a sight of your 
fair Katrine." 

" I'll get a sight of her without that 
trouble," replied Dorsey, and then added — " I 
must go aboard this afternoon, and see how 
things work there. T ought not to have stayed 
ashore last night." 

Although it was some fifteen miles distant 
from her, Kate Van Twiller had heard the- 
first gun that was 'ired by the enemy when the 
" Ocean Queen f Tas discovered, for she had 
not retired to hev bed after parting with her 
lover, but had waited with anxious suspense 
for the daylight to come. 

When she heard that gun she sprang from 
her seat as if its report was a death knell to 
her hopes, and then, in agony, she listened for 


the rest. And as again and again she heard 
the distant sound, her tortured mind pictured 
her lover engaged in terrible and unequal con- 
flict ; she saw him bleed and fall in her terri- 
fied fancy, and the imaginary evil seemed 
worse than would have been a knowledge of 
the reality of her dreams. 

But as she listened carefully each shot 
seemed to be farther off than before, and as the 
Bound became more faint, the stronger grew 
her hopes that her heart's idol had escaped. 

With the first glimpse of daylight, she 
despatched the faithful Hans Nipperhausen to 
the city to gain all the information he could 
for her. 

"What is the matter, child?" asked her 
father, when he saw her come down, pale and 
with swollen eyes. 

" Nothing, dear father, only I did not sleep 
well last night ; there was such a storm, and I 
thought of poor Karl, and the rest who are 
upon the water." 

" Karl had no business to go there. I told 
him to let the Yankees fight for themselves. 
You needn't cry for him ;" and then, while he 
looked her sternly in the face, he added — "I 
believe you think more about that fool of a 
captain that coaxed poor Karl away. But you 
had better be looking out for somebody a little 
better than such as he, — without a dollar to 
bless himself." 

" I feel little like looking out ror any one, 
•ir," replied the daughter blushing, "but if I 
did wish a husband, T should not look for a 
better than Hun£. Bailentine. " 


" There it is ! — I thought so ! — the girl is in 
love with that good-for-nothing captain ! " 
growled Mynheer Van Twiller to his wife. 

" But it is of no use, girl — you can't have 
him! I'd sooner give you to the man who 
wrote to me, last night, about you." 

' ' Wrote to you about me, father ! What 
do you mean ? " 

"Read that letter, child," said the old 
gentleman, in answer, as he cast down a note 
on the table before her. 

Her face grew red and pale, alternately, as 
she read it, and she murmured — 

"An offer from one I have never seen but 
once ! and he a man whose character is stamped 
on his face and written in his every action. 
Father, have you answered this letter ? " 

" No, girl, I have not yet ; I only got it this 
morning. " 

" Then let me answer it ? " 

"What will you tell him, chad ? " 

"That he has mistaken Katrine Van 
Twiller if he thinks the glitter of a gilt button 
can win her heart in a day— that I wish to see 
or hear of him no more. " 

"Well, that's right, and if you'll send the 
same kind to Captain Ballentine, if he sends 
or comes a courting you, it'll be better still. " 

"I will go and answer this note," said 
Katrine ; and without having tasted of the 
food upon the table, she left the room. 

On her way to her own chamber she met 
Hans, who had already got back from the city. 

' ' What ! back so soon, good Hans. What 
is the news ? " 


"De schooner had got out of de harbour 
safe before T left, and now she's all safe." 

"Thank God! Now again my heart is 
lighter," exclaimed the fair girl. 

The maiden seemed more calm now as she 
vent to her chamber to answer the letter 
which, we will " confidentially" tell the reader 
— and nobody else — was a formal request from 
Frank Dorsey, to be admitted as a regular 
visitor at the house, and as a suitor for the 
hand of Katrine. 

What her answer was, we may best infer 
from describing the scene of its reception and 
perusal by Lieutenant Dorsey, on the same 

He was seated in a private room in a hoteS 
near the battery, when it was handed him, and 
bidding the waiter tell the messenger to wait 
until he had read it, he hurriedly broke the seal. 

His face had beamed with pleasure when he 
first glanced upon it, but as now he scanned 
its contents, his brow grew dark with vexation 
and disappointment. 

"So, so ! the proud jade declines the honour 
of my visits— eh ? By the beauty she possesses, 
but she shall pay for this insult. Will not 
even permit me to visit her — eh ? I will soon 
learn her that I'm not a boy, to be put off 
with a word. Declines the honour ! indeed. " 

With an angry curse upon his lips, the 
young officer tore the letter in strips, and then 
turning to the bell-rope of his room, rung it so 
yiolently that he broke it. 

In a moment the waiter reentered th« 


" Who brought this note?" 

" A Dutchman, sir — a stupid sort of s 

" Send him here, and bring me up a bowl 

"Yes, sir," said the waiter, hurrying away 
to obey the order. 

" I must make friends with the servant, if 
possible," soliloquised Dorsey ; ''he may be of 
use- to me yet ; at anyrate, I can find out 

"You are the man who brought me this 
letter from the beautiful Miss Katrine, are you 
not?" asked Dorsey, in a kind, patronising 

" Yaas," was the brief reply of Hans. 

" Well, here is a guinea for you," added the 
officer. 'Take it, my good fellow. I'm willing to 
sdve you a guinea any time, for a letter from 
ker hand." 

Hans mechanically reached out his hand for 
the gold. 

Lieutenant Dcrsey then put a number of 
questions to the sagacious Hans, who answered 
evasively and in monosyllables, and at last 
prepared to depart, alleging that he was told 
10 be quick. 

Lieutenant Dorsey then said, " Tell your 

Tiistress that I was sorry my request was not 

omplied with ; but not a word of the questions. 

Do not say I asked anything about her, do you 


"Yaas," replied the servant, and departed. 



We will take up the end of our fourth chapter 
again, where we left the ' ' Ocean Queen'' with 
a sail in sight, and the query as to whether she 
was a friend or foe unsolved. 

In about an hour from the time the look-out 
first descried the stranger, he again hailed the 
quarter-deck, saying that he thought the vessel 
in sight was an English armed transport. 

" Does she show many teeth ?" asked Lieu- 
tenant Barnacle. 

"I can see but four port-holes of a side, 
sir," replied the man. 

"Eight guns well served might rob us of 
some good men ; we must try a ruse with her ! " 
said Ballentine, and then hailing the look-out 
he asked, — " does she show her colours yet ?" 

"No, sir; but she's English — I know by 
the square cut of her sails, and her spars feeing 
all blacked " 

The commander raised his spy -glass agaiD 
to his eye, and, after looking attentively at 
her, he turned to his lieutenant and said, — 

' ' Get the English ensign ready, Mr Barnacle; 
clap the patch over the ' Queen,' and stand by 
to pass our craft as the ' Harw. ' We must uni- 

• " 
form ourselves again ! 

"Aye, aye, sir! I'll soon fix the barkie, so 
that the devil wouldn't know her if he had even 
sailed in her." 

In a short time the dashing ' ' Ocean Queen, ' 
la appearance, officers, crew and all, seemed 
to be an English cruiser. 

Meantime, the two vessels were rapidly 


nearing each other, and Ballentine hailed 
through his trumpet in the usual manner, — 

" Ship ahoy ! what ship is that ? — where 
bound to and where from ? " 

To which her red-faced old skipper answer- 
ed, — 

"The transport 'Supply,' Coldhound, 
master ; from Portsmouth to New York, with 
Stores for General Clinton ! " 

"Heave to, and I'll come aboard," respond- 
ed Ballentine. 

" What schooner is that ? " now asked Capt. 
Coldhound, in turn. 

' ' His Britannic Majesty's schooner ' Harpy, ' " 
answered Barnacle in place of his commander, 
who appeared to be preparing to go aboard. 

The master of the transport seemed to be 
satisfied, and luffing up a little ahead and under 
the lee of the schooner, hove his main-topsail 
aback, and left his craft almost stationary. 

Meantime preparations were going on aboard 
of the schooner for a very pretty little ma- 
noeuvre, which will not prevent us from listen- 
ing to the remarks of two individuals on board 
of the ' Supply,' which seem to have a connec- 
tion with our plot. 

When the commander of the schooner first 
hailed them, the elder of the two, or he who 
Beemed the elder, turned to the other and 
remarked, — 

"Eicard, I surely have heard that voice 
before, and the ' Harpy ! ' That was the vessel 
to which the other, Frank Dorsey, wrote mo 
he had been promoted. Surely it was his voice 
khat we heard ! " 


"Most likely, my lord,— they are half- 
brothers, you know," replied the other. 

" But I fear that he may recognise us — I do 
mot wish to meet him here ! " 

In the meantime the schooner forged ahead 
and down upon the transport. 

" Look out, sir, or you will fall aboard of 
me ! " cried the captain of the transport, who 
thought the movement accidental. 

" That's just what we want ! " shouted 
Ballentine, as his vessel's bow struck the 
Englishman, and before the latter could reply, 
forty armed men were on his decks ; and Bal- 
lentine, springing upon the deck before him, 
added, — 

" Surrender, sir ! surrender your ship, or 
overboard you go ! Haul down your flag." 

The Englishman was completely thrown 
aback, nor did he comprehend his situation 
till he saw the stars and stripes rise to the gaff 
of the schooner, and he knew then that he had 
been entrapped. 

His crew were not prepared, their arms 
were stowed away, and it was madness to re- 
sist, therefore he had but one choice and 
that was to haul down his flag and submit. 

Ballentine at once gave orders to secure his 
prisoners, for the crew of the transport was 
nearly as great as his own ; aad having done 
this, he asked the commander if he had letters 
or passengers. 

"Both," was the reply; "a bag of the 
«ne you'll find below in my room, the only 
♦wo of the other stands aft there on the 


Ballentine glanced in the direction signified 
by his prisoner, and as his eye settled upon 
the elder of the two, a look of recognition 
gathered in it, and stepping hastily towards 
him, he exclaimed,— 

"Is it possible, sir, that 1 see you here ? 
I thought you were in England, in peace and 
safety. " 

" You do see me here, sir!" responded the 
other ; " when a son forgets the duty he owes 
to his parent and to the land of his nativity, it 
is time for a parent to forget peace and com- 
fort and endeavour to reclaim him." 

" If that be the sole cause of your visit, I 
regret that you have taken unnecessary 
trouble," replied the young commander, in a 
tone as cold and even more calm than that 
used by his father, for the other speaker was 
none other than Count Ballentine. 

"Unnecessary !— you will not dare to per- 
sist in your rebellion when—" 

"Sir, call my present duty by a milder 
name, if you please, or I shall be forced to> 
forget that you are my father and remember 
that you sre my prisoner. I have chosen to 
serve, not England's rebellious colonies, but 
the free United Stater • and I will do so with 
my life ! '* 

"Then, sir, if you persist m that choice, 
hear me/ I will disinherit you — you shall 
neither have my title nor my gold." 

" Father, it is well ; I ask not your title nor 
your gold ! But of this, my honour, my un- 
sullied fame, the name of my ancestors, and the 
pure pride of my heart, you cannot strip me ! " 


The father seemed to feel his son's remarks, 
and for a moment appeared about to relent and 
change his tone, when a few whispered words 
from the one who stood beside him, Bicard, 
caused him to turn away without a softening 

The son, sadly but calmly, also turned away, 
and in a very short time Mr Barnacle reported 
all ready for the vessels to part company, and 
then again young Ballentine approached his 

" Sir," said he, " it would pain me to send 
you in as an English prisoner, therefore I offer 
you a room in my cabin until I can land you in 

" If you will return to your duty, and act 
as the son of a nobleman should, I will accept 
your offer," replied the elder. 

"lam now doing that which I deem my 
duty as a man," replied the son ; "and I await 
your answer. If you will only treat me as a 
son, my cabin is at your service." But you 
have your own choice, sir," said Ballentine, as 
he returned to his own deck. 

In a few moments the vessels had separated, 
one bearing away to the southward, the other 
continuing her course, for a cruise. 

" Foiled again, by Heaven ! foiled again in an 
attempt to obtain an interview with 'that 
beautiful witch .' " 

Thus cried Frank Dorsey, as he turned' his 
horse's head away from the old mansion at 


Helle-gat, -where he had just been informed 
that Miss Katrine was not at home. Just as 
he had made this remark, in facing down a 
little ravine which opened toward the water, 
he saw the fluttering of a lady's dress amid 
the leafless trees, and as he reined in his horse 
saw that a female was walking by the water 
side. Her back was toward him, therefore he 
could not determine whether this was she whom 
he had been seeking, yet he thought he recog- 
nised the queenly step and graceful figure. 

Therefore he quickly turned his horse into 
a little copse of thick-growing hazel, where he 
fastened him ; then he stole cautiously down 
the ravine, toward the water side. A near 
approach to the female removed all doubts in 
his mind as to her identity — she was indeed 
Katrine Van Twiller, and, what seemed to him 
most auspicious, she was alone. 

She seated herself upon the lowermost of a 
little ledge of rocks which jutted down from 
the hill into the water, near the spot where 
her lover had landed on the occasion of hie 
last visit, and here she seemed to watch the 
rippling waves as they chased each other into 
the crevices of the rock, or dissolved in foam. 
She seemed sad, for ever and anon her lips 
would open to let a sigh escape, and her dark 
blue eyes seemed almost as liquid as the waves 
she gazed upon Her situation was almost 
entirely secluded from the view of all sur- 
rounding points, the cliff behind her hid the 
house from her sight, and only from the water 
or from the narrow ravine which led to the 
•pot could she be seen or approached. 


m j. Her, as thus she »«**•> a««n.uuj urepij 
p^ .Dorsey, and he probably would, have 
^tined her side before she knew of his vicinity 
had he not disturbed a loose stone, which, 
tumbling down the rocks, gave her warning of 
an intruder. 

Springing to her feet she glanced around, 
and as she saw him, her flashing eye and 
heightening colour betokened her displeasure. 
He gave her no time to express it in words, for 
quickly advancing, he said, in a gay, free 
tone, — 

"Good morrow, fair lady! I visited your 
father's house to see you, but, not finding you 
at home, have taken the liberty of seeking you ; 
and methinks this is a far more pleasant recep- 
tion room than your parlour would be ! " 

" I should prefer the former, sir, when I am 
forced to receive visitors, " replied the lady, in 
a cold, dignified tone; "but if Lieut. Dorsey 
will inform me what is his business, I will be 
obliged to him, for in my solitary rambles I am 
not fond of company." 

Entirely disregarding the palpable hit, 
Dorsey answered, — 

" Surely a fair lady need not ask a gallant 
cavalier what his business is, when he seeks 
her company ! " 

His manner was so respectful that Katrine 
paused and answered, — 

"Well, sir, speak, and be brief." 

" I came to avow my love — a love which, 
from the first hour that I looked upon you, 
has burned within my breast, and to offer you 
my hand — yes, to give you one of the proudest 

42 THE MAGIC tflGTTBE-..-, VD . 0R? 

^ — xz-^xnAi " exclaimed the j . offi _ 

cer, with passionate eagerness. ° 

" I cannot accept either your love or yo^.. 
hand. Let this be your final answer ! " respond- 
ed Katrine, calmly but firmly. 

Then came a change over the manner of the 
officer ; he sprang to his feet, and, while his 
face grew red with mortification, and Ms dark 
eyes glared like living coals of fire, he cried, — 

"You have rejected my honourable offer of 
love, Katrine Van Twiller ; you've seen me 
bend my proud heart and kneel at your feet, 
and you have dared to scorn me — me, Frank 
Dorsey, who never was foiled before. But 
now beware ! You have refused me, but I 
swear by all that's bright in heaven or dark in 
hell, that you shall be mine ! " 

" Stand back, sir, and let me return to my 
home, " cried Katrine, her eyes flashing with 

" Not till you answer me," replied Dorsey. 
" Do you know fc'ie commander of the ' Ocean 
Queen ? ' " 

" If I do, I know him to be a man. I can- 
not say so much for you, sir ! Stand back and 
give me the path." 

" No, fair damsel, not yet ; I have one word 
more to say. < Yrom your blushes as well as 
your language, I am led to believe that you 
have another \over, and that lover is the com- 
mander of the privateer. I shall first secure 
him — then beware for yourself. I am one who 
never yet was foiled in any aim, nor will I be 
now. By fair means or foul I will possess you. 
Had you responded to my love as you ought, 


kjj* a few moments since, you might have been 
iby wedded wife ; now you shall be " 

He bent forward and whispered the rest ; 
and deeply insulting must those words have 
been, for tne maiden sprang toward him, and 
as he had bowed his face toward her, spat full 
upon it, crying at the same time — 

" Begone, base hind — begone from my path!" 

The eyes of Dorsey flashed fire at this in- 
sult, and then he seemed on the point of 
springing upon her, when the sound of a man 
whistling some odd air was heard, and the 
next moment our old friend, Hans Nipper- 
hausen, was seen advancing along the ravine. 

'Thank God! for this interruption," cried 
Katrine. "Now, sir, you will permit me to 
pass, I presume ! " she added to Dorsey ; but 
the latter, who seemed choked and maddened 
with anger, cried, — 

" No ; not were your whole ^rood at your 

The maiden looked but once at Hans, who 
with short pipe between his teeth was slowly 
coming down the rocks, and then attempted 
to pass by Dorsey. 

The latter stretched out his hand to prevent 
her, but as he did sn, Hans, with one quick 
and lengthy leap, landed on the rock at his 
side, then quick as thought raised him in his 
powerful arms and pitched him from the rock 
into the water at its foot. 

"Your fadder wants yon, Miss Kate," said 
Hans, as he did this ; and before the head of 
the maddened officer was above the water, the 
fair girl had turned to obey the request. 


Hans, meantime, quietly seated nim^lf 
upon the rock, and while he seemed to puft 
his pipe with increased pleasure, he watched 
the movements of the other. 

Dorsey, when he arose to the surface of the 
water, which was at that season cold as ice, 
could scarcely speak, but spluttering and curs- 
ing, he swam back to the rock, upon which, in 
a moment, he landed. As soon as he got a 
foot-hold, he rushed up to the spot where Hana 
sat smoking, and drawing a pistol from hia 
breast, shouted, — 

"You shall die, you cursed dog— you shall 
die for this!" 

He pulled the trigger, but no report fol- 
lowed, and Hans drew a heavier whiff as ? 
without moving from his seat, he said, — 

"De priming pe wet in de pan, captain. 
Dere's no use for powder when it is wet." 

" No ; curse you ; but if this is wet it won't 
miss fire ! " shouted Dorsey, as he attempted 
to draw his sword, but ere he could get it 
entirely from its scabbard, Hans was again 
by his side, and once more Mr Dorsey enjoyed 
a cold bath free. Losing his grasp upon 
his sword as he struck the water the second 
time, it sunk to the bottom, and he arose 
defenceless, so far as weapons were con- 

Hans, after pitching him from the rocks, 
reseated himself and again commenced puffing 
his pipe, as calmly as if nothing had occurred 
to alter or disturb his usual equanimity. 

Completely chop-fallen, and quite cooled off 
la body, was the lieutenant as he scrambled 


again up the cold and rugged rocks, but there 
was a raging hell within his breast. 

He did not now approach the strong-armed 
old Dutchman, but with only one fiery glance 
of fiendish anger, passed on up the ravine. 

In a few moments he reached his horse, 
which he mounted and rode toward the city. 
Bitter were his thoughts and threatening his 
soliloquy, as he rode on. 

"By heaven! she and all who belong to 
her shall suffer for this! "he cried — "never 
before was I so thwarted, but she shall repent 
it. Before another week passes by, she shall 
be in my power, and that Dutch rascal shall 


It was a few nights later than when we last saw 
her, that the "Ocean Queen" was steering 
down along the coast of Long Island, just to 
the northward of Sandy Hook. 

At dusk on that evening she had weighed 
anchor, and slipped out from a little cove 
where she had been concealed for several days, 
refitting and preparing for active service. 

Her crew seemed to be overjoyed on feeling 
once more the swell of the heaving ocean, and 
" piled " the canvas on her with a hearty good 
will, and soon she was dashing at a rapid rate 
through the water, leaving behind her a long 
wake of snowy foam. 

Her commander and his first lieutenant, Mr 
Barnacle, who had just returned from leaving 
his prize at Norfolk, and Karl Van Twiller, 


were seated aft. by the taffrail, in conversa- 
tion, and the men were grouped around for- 
ward, some engaged in spinning, others in 
listening to yarns. 

Four or five old forecastle-men were seated 
upon the head-rail, listening to the oracle of 
their part of the vessel, old Tom Crossan, who 
had seen more service than any man on board, 
and who was acknowledged by all hands to 
be a regular out-and-out sailor, every inch of 

Tom was about fifty years of age, had a 
very red face, his thin hair was long, black, and 
as curly as the long beard which hid his 
swarthy neck from view. He was full six feet 
four inches high, rather spare in form, but one 
of those who seem made up of bone and 
na&scle, without any spare flesh upon them. 

lie was so strong, that once when the best 
bower of the schooner caught on the rail, when 
they were letting it go, he stepped up on the 
rail, raised the anchor with his hands and 
pitched it clear, *hough it did weigh nine hun- 
dred pounds. 

Tom's chum, c* nearest friend aboard, was 
a little, short half-breed Indian, who had 
shipped with him, and who it was said be- 
longed to one of the tribes who still encamped 
about the waters of the Hudson river, loath 
to leave the hunting-grounds of their ances- 
tors. When Camar, the Indian, first came 
aboard with "long Tom," as the crew always 
called Crossan, he knew but little about a sea- 
going vessel, but he was very apt, and soon 
tm as handy on the flying-jib-boom, or in 


stowing a staysail, as any man aboard. He 
too, like "long Tom, ".became a general fa your* 
ite, for in action he had proved as cool and 
active as his chum, and the two were looked 
upon by their commander as the most valuable 
of all his crew. 

" Do you see there. Cam," said Tom, as the 
Indian, with two or three others of 'the fore- 
castle-men, bent over the bows; "do you see 
our lady's face — you can see it as the foam 
throws sparkles of light up into it. Don't you 
see she looks glad that we're out again on the 
deep water. Ever since we've been in that 
ere bloody cove, her eyes have been as green 
as ever a cat's was, and her face looked as if 
she was a grievin' for somethin'. " 

"So they did — I never seed such a figure- 
head afore ! I do believe its bewitched ? " 
responded one of the seamen. 

"Bewitched ! " continued Tom ; "to be sure 
it is. I've never had no doubts about that since 
we came out of Cherbourg, for while we lay in 
that bloody French port, her eyes were green 
and her face as dirty lookin' as if never a drop 
of decent paint had ever been put upon her, 
but when we got off into clear water, I can tell 
you that she brightened up, like a sewing girl 
on a Sunday. Her eyes got as blue, and her 
face as cheerful as if she was a human, didn't 
it, Cam ? " 

"Yes, me see it. She be great medicine- 
woman ! " replied the Indian, who always re- 
garded and called the sorcerers of his tribe 

" I do believe there's something been done 


to bewitch that figure-head, for I remember 
the night when it was blowing so heavy, and 
we'd got close in on Hatteras shoals without 
know'n' it that I looked at her face when a 
flash of lightnin' lit it up ; and her eyes were 
as green as ever I seen 'em ! I went aft and 
told the skipper, and then he made me heave 
the lead as soon as I could, and there we were 
in only four fathom water. 

"The witch know'das well as could be that 
we was going ashore, and she was mad. We 
didn't but just have time to go about on t'other 
tack before the breakers were in sight. If it 
hadn't been for her eyes that night, the 
schooner and all hands would have gone to 
Davy Jones' locker. " 

The men looked at the figure-head, but said 
Siothing. The whole crew seemed to think 
&hat it was bewitched, and that the schooner 
was safe so long as it was preserved. 

They had repeatedly asked the captain 
about it, but he had always smiled mysteri- 
ously and evaded answering their question. 
This settled the matter in their minds, and in 
alluding to the figure-head, they always spoke 
of it very respectfully, terming it " our lady." 
While the crew were thus engaged, the 
officers aft were holding a conversation, the 
drift of which can only be inferred by giving 
it to tho reader. 

"I hate to trust the barkie in the bay again 

so soon, especially with a leading wind in ; but 

I must be at Helle-gat cove before midnight," 

said Ballentine, to whom Barnacle responded. 

" It's true that the bull-dogs will be apt to 


keep a bright look-out after all that's past, but 
still I think we might get in and out again, as 
•we did before. " 

" A pitcher that goes too often to the well 
is apt to get broken. I don't like to put ' our 
lady ' into danger so great very often." 

"Why must you go in?" asked Karl ; "it 
«eems to me that there's a better chance for 
both prize money and fair play out here than 
there is inside." 

" I have an engagement to be at Helle-gat 
•cove this night, and you know that I never 
break an engagement." 

" Well, if you dislike to risk the schooner, 
why not go in with your boat?" suggested 

"'True, I can do so; and in the trip with 
her I can see if there isn't a chance for cutting 
out something. We have done so little lately, 
that I'm afraid we'll forget how to work when 
a chance comes." 

" Light, ho ! on the starboard bow, sir ! " 
«ried a lookout from forward. 

"The glim on the highlands; I reckon," said 
Barnacle ; " shall we luff in or will you take 
your boat ? " 

" I think the boat is best," said Ballentine ; 
" I'll take only six men, beside myself." 

" Who'll you have, sir ? " 

'* Long Tom, little Cam, and four of my gigs- 
men, in the whale-boat. Have them all armed 
with pistols and cutlasses, and lay half-a-dozen 
muskets in the stern sheets of the boat." 

"Aye, aye. sir. I must heave to and lower 
the boat to get you off." 


" Certainly, Mr Barnacle, do so." 

In a few moments the scltooner lay w*:.» 
her topsail aback, and all was made ready to 
despatch the boat. This having been done, 
was reported to the commander, who stepping 
into her, bade the crew hoist her two lug sails, 
and taking the tiller into his own hand, headed 
her in over the bar, before a stiff breeze, 
which gave him a leading course up the bay. 

Before he left the vessel he gave orders to 
Mr Barnacle to remain where he was until 
daylight, and if he did not return by that time 
to run back to Montauk point. In case he 
still missed him, to consider that he had fallen 
into the hands of the enemy and to act accord- 
ing his own judgment. 

" Where do you think Captain Ballentine's 
father is now ? " asked Karl of Mr Barnacle, 
a short time after the captain had left the 

"I expect he's in New York before now," 
replied the other. " When I landed him at 
Norfolk, and told him he was free, and that by 
his son's orders, he swore that if he had any 
influence with Sir Henry Clinton, he would 
send the whole fleet out after us, and cursed 
his son for a rebel and everything else but a 

' ' I hope that ne will have sense enough 
to stay where he is without coming into these to give us trouble," responded the 

Reader, we will change to other scenes 
now, so look out for us in the next chapter. 



When Count Ballentine and his servant were 
landed at Norfolk, and found that they were 
free, the first thoughts of the father who had 
recovered from his anger, was to return with 
Mr Barnacle to his son's vessel, for the latter 
told him that he should at once proceed over- 
land to a certain point, which was agreed upon, 
to join the " Ocean Queen." 

But to this the servant, who seemed to 
have a strange influence over his master, ob- 
jected, insisting upon their going to New York 
and placing themselves under the protection 
of General Clinton. 

To this Count B. acceded, and at the very 
moment when young Hunt Ballentine left his 
vessel to go into harbour on a visit to Katrine 
Van Twiller, his father had taken qnarters at 
the old tavern fronting the South Ferry landing, 
having just arrived overland from Norfolk 
after a most fatiguing and dangerous journey. 

One hour later and his son scudded past 
that very point, with a flowing she^t, as he 
steered toward Helle-gat cove. 

And where was Katrine at this same hour ? 
Let the following inform the reader : — 

With the light upon her window l«dge as 
before, she sat and gazed down toward the 
water. The wind whistled through the leaf- 
less trees, but it w:is to her a cheerful sound, 
for this was the night when he, h«* fioTed one, 
tad promised to be by her side. 

Looking around to the old clock whiok 
stood upon the mantelpiece, she murmured — 


"Twelve o'clock and he not here yet?" 
Then a shadow of impatience crossed her fair 
brow and she looked out upon the water, and 
through the gloom she saw a light down by the 
water side, and her eye brightened as she 
said — 

"That must be he — but no, Hans carries a 
lantern with him," and again she sighed, as if 
she feared a disappointment. 

She still looked out, however, and as she 
did so, she thought that she saw the forms of 
two persons standing in the shadow of the 
trees below her. 

Steadily she gazed upon them, until she felt 
satisfied that they were living beings, and then 
she wondered who they could be, or what their 
errand there at that hour. She knew that 
Ballentine was not one to stand and coldly 
watch the window of his mistress ; she knew 
that Hans had gone to the waterside, and an 
undefinable dread of an unknown danger stole 
over her soul, as she gazed out from behind 
her half-drawn window curtains. 

Hearing a step upon the stairs which led to 
her chamber, she turned with a frightened 
look, as if she expected peril was at hand, but 
her look changed -«i she met the fond look of 
her lover. 

" Dear Hunt ! " she cried, as she embraced 
him and returned his salutation, " have you 
3ent any of your crew, as a watch, to the rear 
if the house ? " 

"No, dear Kate; what put that thought 
into your head ? " 

" I saw, but now, two persons lurking in the 


shadow of the old oak, whose branches touch 
our walla. Who could they have been ? " 

"' In the shadow of the oak — two persons 
lurking? I'll see," cried the lover, as he 
hastened to the window and looked out. 

" I see no one, Kate," said he ; and then,. 
wh«u she too looked forth, she found that they 
were gone. 

"It ia strange — I saw them very plain, ,r 
said she, as her lover suggested that she had 
mistaken shadows of the branches for men, but 
he soon made her forget the circumstance aa 
he related to her his escape. 

Then she too told him of her adventures, 
and gay was his laugh, as he listened to the 
manner in which Hans had cooled the passion 
of the English lieutenant ; yet even with his 
laugh came a shadow of care across his face as; 
he thought of the exposed situation of his love, 
and he remarked — 

"This man's name is Dorsey — a lieutenant 
aboard the 'Harpy,' you say, Kate?" 

"Yes, Hunt; so he told me, and I rated him 
for being ashore when he had enemies afloat." 

"Well, I'll soon take care of him. If he 
be aboard of his craft to-morrow night, I'll 
give him a chance to make love to me." 

" How ? — what dare-devil freak hav« you 
in your mind ? " 

"Only to cut out that same 'Harpy' at this 
hour, or a little later, to-morrow night She 
is too smart a vessel to belong to the English. 
I want to either take or destroy her, and 
being, as you know, rather wilful, shall do 
it 1" 


" It is too dangerous, dear Hunt ; she is in 
the harbour, in the very midst of the fleet." 

'* !She won't be there long/' replied the 
other; " but let us talk of other things. I've 
only half-an-hour to spend here to-night, for I 
don't want to be seen this time. " 

When the fair Katrine thought she «*w 
two persons beneath her window, she w«& n °t 
mistaken. One of them was Frank Dorsey, 
the other was Lieutenant Walcoti, the red- 
faced spongy individual whom we introduced 
in a former chapter to the reader. 

The business of Dorsey was a tour of 
inspection around the old mansion, prepara- 
tory to another visit, with a most foul and 
base intent. 

When they first saw the light in the maid's 
window, Walcott whispered, — 

" This must be the girl's room : old Dutch- 
men don't sit up so late as this. " 

" Yes, it is her room," replied Dorsey, "and 
it seems to me that it's right handy to get at, 
for the limbs of this old oak tree rub against 
the wall of the house. I'm sure I could easily 
get in. " 

•' Aye, that's true ; but how would you get 
her out ? " responded the other. 

" Gag her— tie her and then lower her down 
by a rope. Then it's but a step to the water : 
have a boat's crew there, and it would be an 
easy job to get her aboard the ' Harpy.' " 

"Won't old McKannon make a fuss about 
it ? Will he let you bring a woman aboard ? " 

" I gave him a hundred pounds last night 
lor the free use of the cabin, hinting to him 


what I wanted it for, and he took the money. 
You know he loves money more than you do 


'Then he must have a liking for it," re- 
sponded the other. " I'y the way, Frank, 
have you not a pistol with you ? " 

The younger villain drew a small liquor flask 
x ^m his pocket and handed it to the other. 

r^ter taking a long draught from it, he 
looked <-,p again at the window and said, — 

'That's the gal's room — ah, by thunder! 
there she is herself!" 

* e \ it is her! " said Frank Dorsey, as 
he gazed, \yyfch a passionate eye upon her, 
''and she loftfa^this way. but it is too dark 
for her to discover us ; yet we will go." 
_ At that moment a step was heard approach- 
ing, a heavy, staggering step, and Dorsey, 
bidding his companion keep close, crouched 
down closer by the trunk of the tree. As he 
did this he thought he saw the form of a man 
pass noiselessly by, in the path which led 
from the water to the house, but, as a moment 
after, the light of a lantern borne by Hans 
Nipperhausen, whose step he had heard, cam© 
gleaming along the path, he thought he had 
only seen a shadow of the tree. 

"Where the devil can that tellow haTs 
been at this time of night, I wonder?" mut- 
tered he, and when he saw that the Dutchman 
had a lobster net over his shoulder, he seemed 
more satisfied, supposing that the man had 
been taking up his net at the low tide, which 
was at that hour. 

Hans passed on, not seeing the two spies. 


and they soon hurried away toward the city, 
little dreaming how near they had been that 
night to the dreaded commander of the " Ocean 

Early on the next morning, before the rosy 
dawn had tinted the eastern sky, Captain Bal- 
lentine had regained his vessel, which stood 
away to the northward, close in shore, to av*"- 
being seen by the English cruisers. 

"I've found work for us to-nis^ bar- 
nacle," cried the young captain, as he saw 
his vessel draw away, after getting on 

" What is it, sir— more cut+^g out ? " 

" You are a capital hand at guessing. It is 
just that, and nothing else. I have taken the 
bearings of that schooner, the ' Harpy,' and I 
intend to pay my respects to her captain to- 
morrow night. " 

" Isn't she in a bad place for us ? " 

" There are four or five other crafts not far 
from her, but she lays outside, and if the wind 
tends out of the bay, I think we can get her. 
She won't expect an attack, and the taking of 
her may not cost a man." 

" Too good luck to expect, that would be, 
sir," responded the first luff ; " but I hope it'll 
come true, that's all. " 

" If it should not, our brave men will never 
flinch from it. I do believe I could have taken 
her to-night with my boat's crew, if I had 
time, for I went close under her bows and 
never was even hailed." 

"They mistook you for one of their own 
boats, I suppose," said Barnacle : "but I'll go 


forward and set the men to getting the arms 
and boats ready for service." 

" Do so ; we shall run down to the bar as 
soon as it gets dark, and then let them look 
out for squalls." 


It was night, the hour not later than ten, and 
yet Katrine Van Twiller was about retiring to 
her couch, for on the previous night she had 
remained up very late with her lover, and even 
when he had returned to his vessel she had. 
been sleepless, for she knew how dangerous 
was his passage through the bay. 

Her father, who, like the steady-habited 
people of his race, kept early hours, both at 
night and in the morning, had already retired 
to his couch, and was probably at this moment 
snoring like an over-fed Indian. Even old 
Hans Nipperhausen had crept into his comfort- 
able bed, and everything living about the old 
mansion seemed at rest, except the fair 
Katrine. No, not everything, for Katrine, as 
she began to prepare to retire, heard the old 
watch-dog bark loudly, but she thought no- 
thing of that, for the faithful animal would 
bark at night, if he heard but the galloping of 
a horse on the distant road Besides, she 
knew that ner father's doors were heavy and 
well barred, and that Hans slept in the porter's 
room inside of them, and she had no fear of 

Poor girl! how little dreamed she of the 
danger near her at that very moment. The 


dog had suddenly ceased barking, and was 
entirely still, and she thought no more of his 

One look with us, reader, to a scene that is 
passing in the vicinity. At the moment when 
Katrine heard the barking of the dog, a boat, 
manned by six seamen, with two persons sit- 
ting in her stern sheets, landed at the rock in 
the cove where Dorsey received his ducking 
at the hand of old Hans. The dog had dis- 
covered them, and commenced barking as he 
eaw the two who were in the stern-sheets 
advance up the hill toward the house. 

" Curse that dog! he will wake everybody 
within a mile ! " muttered the younger of the 
two, who was closely Wrapped in a boat-cloak. 

" Just hold on a bit, old fellow, and I'll clap 
a stopper on him ! " replied the other, at the 
same time advancing to the spot where the 
dog had paused on the edge of the rock. The 
dog growled as the man advanced, but the 
latter drew a short hanger, which he wore at 
his side, and with a quick blow cut through 
the entire neck-bone of the animal, which, 
without another growl, sunk dead upon the 

'■Very neatly done, Walcott ; upon my 
word you'd make a capital dog-killer for the 
corporation, ' said the other, in a low tone ; 
then looking .toward the window, he added, 
"see, sice is up yet ; we had better wait an 
hour. "' 

' ' Why -,o, Frank ? — the rest of the house is 
still. It's late now, and we'll have little time 
enough to get her safe aboard before daylight." 


<( i 

'True," answered the other, "have you 
the rope ladder with you ? " 

" Aye— I've forgotten nothing, not even a 
bosom companion, a soul- comforter," replied 
the other, first showing a bundle of rope coiled 
up, and then drawing from his breast pocket a 
small bottle which, uncorking, he placed to 
his lips. From a low, gurgling sound which 
murmured pleasantly from his throat, as a 
little brook when it runs over a pebbly bot- 
tom, it was easy to infer that the bottle was 
not empty. After a long pull at the same, the 
drinker spoke to his companion — 

"Try some, Frank ; it's real old Jamaica, 
and will give you spunk for the business." 

"I'd drink," replied the other, " not to gain 
spunk for carrying her off, but because it is so 
infernal chilly to-night. " 

To do this, the speaker paused under the 
branches of the tree which stood so close to the 
window of Katrine. Having drank, he re- 
turned the bottle to his companion, who again 
putting it to his lips, held it there until it 
would yield no more liquid to his lips. 

" Now hold on below and keep a bright 
look-out, while I go up and fasten the rigging," 
aaid the younger man, "and when I'm ready, 
come up half way, so as to take her as I pass 
her out." 

At the same time ascending the tree by the 
opposite side from the window, and in the 
shade. The ascent was easy, for it was a 
thick-branched tree. 

When we were last speaking of Katrine, 
she had noticed that the dog no longer barked, 


and supposing all to be quiet and safe, si*« 
began to prepare to retire to her bed ; but first 
she knelt down and offered up her pure 
prayers to the Throne of Grace, and well we 
know that her lover's name was mentioned then. 

And even at this moment a pair of wicked 
eyes, the hateful fire were bent upon her, and 
even her occupation could not affect him who 
gazed upon her. He saw that her back was 
turned toward him as she knelt, and stealthily 
crept along the limb to the window ledge and 
gently tried the casement. It was unfastened, 
and he found that it could be raised. 

Beckoning his companion up to his assist- 
ance, the intruder prepared to raise the win- 
dow. This he did just at the moment when 
the lovely girl was arising from her knees, and 
she turned toward him at the moment he raised 
the sash and sprang in to the chamber. 

She screamed in terror as she recognised 
the features of Dorsey, and that long, shrill 
cry of fear echoed through the house, like the 
cry of some bird frightened from its nest. She 
had no time to fly, no time to scream again; in 
one instant she was seized in the villain's 
arms, wrapped closely in his cloak, and though 
Bhe struggled wildly, was passed out of the 
window and down the ladder, by the aid of 
Walcott, Dorsey's vile confederate. 

*" Be quick— be quick!" cried the iatter t 
as he saw lights flashing through the house, 
" that screech of her's has raised all hands." 

" All safe," said Dorsey, as he reaehed the 
ground; '* stay and get the ladder, Walcott." 
"No time for that, run for the boat!" 


shouted the other, as a form was seen to darken 
the window, and then a voice shouted from 
above, " Sthop dere you tam divils — sthop, or 
111 shoot ! " which was followed by the report 
of a blunderbuss, which scattered its shot in 
such close proximity to the red-faced lieu- 
tenant, that he tumbled over the edge of the 
cliff and down the rocks, as if he had been 
shot, though indeed he was untouched. 

Dorsey, bearing his helpless victim, rushed 
down the path and was in a moment at the 
boat, which already contained his companions. 

" Shove off, boys ! — shove off quick, or we'll 
have all Holland down after us ! " cried Dorsey, 
as he sprang into the boat, and even while the 
men were doing so, they heard the footsteps of 
Hans, who, descending by the window and 
rope ladder, was close upon them. 

But yet he was too late, the boat was clear 
of the strand, and in it he saw the struggling 
but helpless form of his mistress. 

"Sthop der poat!" he shouted; "sthop 
der poat and pring my mistress pack again and 
I giff one tousan tollar ! " 

" Stop your noise, you old fool ! " shouted 
Dorsey ; "tell your master that Miss Katrine 
is off on a pleasure cruise with a lieutenant of 
the Royal Navy— going to sea in his yacht, 
d'ye hear ? " 

" Oh mine Got ! oh mine Got .' " cried the 
unhappy Hans, " sthop der boat." 

But it was in vain he cried, the boat was 
now dashing down the East River with all the 
speed which six bending oars could give to it. 
Meantime the house at the cove was all 


alarmed. The father of Katrine, aroused first 
by her shriek and then by the report of Hans' 
gun, had rushed to her chamber, where finding 
that she was gone he rushed Out, not by the 
way taken by his faithful servant, but by the 
regular door, following Hans, whom he knew 
by his shouting. He arrived at the moment 
■when the lieutenant shouted the message for 
himself, and he groaned in the agony of his 
heart as he saw the boat dash off into the 
night-gloom and felt that he could not rescue 
his unhappy child. 

" What shall we do — what shall we do to 
save my child from that lawless villain's 
grasp ? " groaned the miserable father, and his 
groan was echoed by the faithful Hans. The 
latter now turned toward the house with hasty 
steps, not knowing what to do, yet wishing to 
do something, when suddenly he stumbled 
over the body of the dog. 

" Tam ! I dink I haf shoot one ! " he cried, 
as he kicked at the body ; "yes, he is here, py 
tam ! " cried Hans, with a more joyful tone. 
He thought that he had killed one of them, 
and this gave him some pleasure. 

But his joy was as quickly dispelled, when 
some of the domestics who had just been 
aroused, rushed down the hill-side with a 
lantern and he found out his mistake. 

"Dog! — throat cut I my pullets didn't do 
that I " he muttered, as he turned over tha 
poor animal. 

"No, this has ^en a regular planned 
affair," moaned the father. " I see it all — that 
villain got mad at Kate fer writing a refusal 


to his request, and now he has carried her off. 
Oh God ! she is in his power — she is lost for 
ever ! " 

"No, py tam!" cried the honest Hans; 
«' no, py tam she shall not be lost ! I'll go to 
der gobernor —I'll tell him all der dam 

" Yes," cried the father, the thought of the 
governor striking him as an only hope, " jump 
on the grey colt and ride at full speed to Sir 
Henry Clinton's quarters. Tell him of this 
foul outrage, and that I demand justice and 
that right speedily. Tell him which way the 
boat is gone, and pray him to have her stopped. 
Use every means — I will give ten thousand 
dollars for her safe return.". 

Hans waited not to answer ; with the first 
thought he had bounded toward the stable and 
within two minutes more he was riding at a 
break-neck speed toward the city. He had 
not even time to saddle the animal or to bridle 
it, he guided it with its heavy rope halter, 
using the loose end for a whip. He made such 
"time" over that road, too, on that night, as 
many a blooded nag might be proud of, though 
the dam of the colt wa« nothing but an old 
plough horse. 

And while he was thus speeding to the city 
by land, Dorsey's boat was darting in the same 
direction over the water. 

It was not quite twelve when Hans stopped 
his colt before the quarters of Sir Henry Clin- 
ton, and at the very same moment Dorsey 
arrived in sight of his vessel. 

"Give way, lads, we'll soon be aboard," ho 


cried to the men. At this moment Walcotfc 
touched him on the shoulder and said, as he 
pointed toward the schooner— 

"There's other boats on the water to-night 
besides ours. Let's see — one, two — four. 
Yes, four boats, and they row towards the 

" Give way lively, boys, it must be some 
cutting-out party. Give way — I'm ruined if 
I'm not aboard," cried Dorsey. 

At this moment he heard the shout of the 
sentinel on board the "Harpy," as he hailed 
the boats, and then no answer being returned, 
he saw the flash of the soldier's musket, and 
saw the boats dash in toward the vessel. 

"Too late, by thunder! too late," he 
shouted ; and then, as if in hopes to aid his 
vessel, he cried again, "Give way, men, we 
must go alongside." 

"It's no use — you can't do any good now. 
You may thank your stars you're not aboard," 
said Walcott, evidently better satisfied where 
he was, than with the prospect of the hard 
knocks which he might have gotten gratis just 
at that moment on board of the schooner. 

Long before the sun went down on the day 
which closes our ninth chapter, the crew of the 
" Ocean Queen " were prepared for the expedi- 
tion to cut out the "Harpy." For reasons 
best known to himself, Ballentine had stood off 
the coast until the land was entirely out of 
sight, and the water was as blue as his own 


Katrine's eye. The crew were in fine spirits, 
for Long Tom had made a particular examina- 
tion of the "magical lady," who served their 
vessel for a figure-head, and pronounced her 
favourable to their designs. 

" Her eye," he said, "was blue as a bit of 
the Gulf Stream, and as clear as a cloudless 
sky ; " and then he swore that he saw her 
smile as he stood on the bowsprit, holding on. 
by the foretopmast stay, gazing wistfully to- 
know whether luck would attend them on the 
proposed expedition. 

Tom, and Cam, the Indian, were to go in 
the captain's own boat, and both seemed more 
than usually pleased with the idea. The men 
had been engaged all day with their arms — 
grinding their cutlasses and battle-axes, and 
cleaning the locks of their pistols. 

Spare oars were placed in each boat, and 
those used were neatly muffled. Before the- 
sun went down, Ballentine, having mustered 
his crew at quarters and closely inspected 
them, gave orders to tack the schooner and 
stand in for the land. Having kept the bear- 
ings of the latter, he gave his helmsman a. 
compass course which he knew would take 
him near Sandy Hook, and as the night came 
on, crowded on the canvas and hurried hia 
little craft in toward the point of her destina- 

He had overheard Long Tom giving th* 
crew the cheering news in regard to the favour- 
able looks of the figure-head, and felt quite 
■ure that this, in their superstitious minds, 
would have a great effect, and a most beneficial 


one, yet he smiled, as if the change in her 
looks on that day was no secret to him. 

It was near ten o'clock before the schooner 
gained a position near the mouth of the "ttle 
swash channel, just to the northward «j£ the 
main bar, from which Ballentine intended to 
start with his boats. These were soon lowered, 
the schooner having been hove to, with her 
head off shore, and the picked crews were not 
long in talcing their places in them. They 
were forty in number, men who had been oft 
tried in scenes like that which they expected 
on that night. This left twenty men to man- 
age the vessel, which Ballentine left under the 
charge of his boatswain, a staunch and trusty 
old seaman, with directions to stand off and 
on, with short tacks, and to keep a bright look 
for signals from him. Should he prove success- 
ful, as soon as he got the "Harpy" in his 
hands he was to send up a rocket which could 
easily be seen from the outside, but if he failed 
the rocket would not be shown, and the priva- 
teer was to keep close in to the bar, to be ready 
to receive or aid the boats. 

First giving a second look to the men in 
earn boat, and seeing that they were perfectly 
titted for service, Ballentine gave the order to 
shove off, taking the lead in his own boat and 
steering in by the beacon light on the High- 
lands of Uever-sink. 

Next to his boat folio ,:'ed that commanded 
by Barnaole, and next to that came Karl. The 
rear boat was commanded by the gunner, an 
old fellow who had lost one eye. from the 
thrust of a boarding pike, when they cut out 


the " Fire-fly" some months previous, and now 
begged for only a chance to revenge the loaa 
and perform a similar favour for some English- 

With muffled oars, and a long, steady pull, 
the boats swept in over the bar, and keeping 
close up along the starboard shore, steered for 
the cluster of lights which, in the Narrows 
ahead of them, pointed out the place where 
the English fleet was at anchor. 

When they got within about a mile of 
these, the head boat lay upon its oars, and the 
others closed up to receive their final orders. 

" Which is her light ? " asked Barnacle, as 
he gazed at the cluster. 

"The one nearest to us, most to the 
south' ard ! " repliexl the young captain. " You 
can see that it is lower than the rest, as she is 
the smallest craft thtfre. I took her bearings 
carefully. " 

" Then we've so much the better chance to 
get her out .'ifter she is taken. Wind and tide 
both in our favour — she's ours sure as a gun." 

"Yes," replied the commander; "I've no 
fear on that score, and now we'll arrange how 
to board her. You will board on the bow, fol- 
lowed by the gunner and his crew, Mr Bar- 
nacle. I will take the waist, and Karl shall 
go in over the tafFrail. She won't have many 
men on deck, and the minute you are aboard, 
men, spring to the hatchways and keep the 
crew from gaining the deck. " 

These orders were given so that each man 
might know his duty, and now the boats again 
started toward the light which had been 


pointed out as the " Harpy's," keeping to the 
southward of the other lights and pulling care- 
fully but steadily along. 

The night had been wearing on, and it was 
now midnight. The cries of the sentinels as 
they gave the usual '-all's well" was heard, 
and old Linstock the gunner grinned horribly 
a ghastly smile, as he heard them, muttering 
in a low tone — 

" You'll spin a different yarn before you're 
an hour older, you bloody sharks." 

The boats were now closing up with the 
schooner rapidly, not more than a hundred 
yards off, when they knew that they were dis- 
covered, for her sentinel shouted — 

" Boats, ahoy ! " 

Ballentine gave them no answer, but cried 
to his men — "Away there, lads ! give way and 

Then came the discharge of the sentinel's 
musket and the sound of his cry as he shouted 
— " All hands, ho! The enemy are boarding 

The next mc-nent the Americans were on 
the schooner's deck, where some ten or twelve 
of the crew had sprung half-naked from their 
berths, and now tried to resist, but in a 
■moment they were mastered, some of them cut 
down, the rest disarmed. Obeying their 
leader's directions, the men had guarded the 
hatches, and only a few of the schooner's crew 
had gained the deck. The rest were safely 
caged below. 

Karl had sprung to the cabin with his men, 
and reached it just in time to secure the 


officers, only three in number, who were rush- 
ing on deck, sword in hand. The old gunner 
did not have his wish, and no Englishman fell 
a victim on that night to his intention of hav 
ing " an eye for an eye." 

But all of this had not been done without 
giving alarm to the squadron. Lights could 
be seen glancing about from the other vessels, 
alarm guns were fired, and everything was in 
an uproar. 

"Cut the cable!" shouted Ballentine, the 
moment he saw capture secured ; " lay aloft a 
dozen of you and loose away the topsail and 
top-gallan' sail, man the sheets and halliards 
here on deck. Bear a hand ! " 

This was done rapidly, and then as he saw 
she was under motion, he cried to Karl to take 
the helm and steer her out for the bar. At 
this moment a ship near to them sent up a 
signal rocket, which illuminated the water far 
and near. 

"Saved me the 'rouble — made my own 
signal," cried Ballentine, with glee, little seem- 
ing to care for the fact that this light had 
shown his position to the enemy. 

"What f s that? By thunder, we'd have 
had more prisoners if we'd waited a minute or 
two," said Barnacle, pointing to a boat which 
was laying on its oars, just astern of them, 
and had evidently been pulled toward the 
schooner. As Ballentine glanced toward it, 
he saw by the bright light of the rocket what he 
thought to be a female form struggling in the 
grasp of a man, and then as the light went out» 
he heard distinctly a stifled scream. 


" By Heavens, there's some foul work 
going on there!" he cried; "but we've no 
time to see into it now. " 

Little did he dream from whose lips came 
that stifled shriek, or whose hand held the 
struggling form which he had seen. 

The rocket had shown to the English the 
result of the attack and the position of the 
captured schooner, and now they opened a hot 
cannonade, which threw the shot thick and 
fast around her. But the " Harpy" was under 
sail; the wind was fresh, and a strong ebb-tide 
with her, so that she swiftly sped from them. 
It was not long before the prize was dashing 
out through the swash channel, and as he 
gained its mouth Ballentine sent up a rocket 
as a signal to his own vessel. The latter at 
once showed her position by a blue light, and 
the " Harpy " was soon within hail of her. 

"Crowd on your canvas and follow me! " 
cried Ballentine. hailing the boatswain. 

Mustering the captured crews, Ballentine 
became aware of the absence of two officers, 
and learned to his dismay that they were 
absent on a " Irrk " — after a Dutch girl named 

When Dorsey heard the exclamations of 
Katrine to her brother and lover — for she 
instinctively felt that the capturers of the 
"Harpy" could be no others — he instantly 
ordered the men to back water, then to turn 
the boat's head to the city and row thither. 

Arrived there, Katrine was enveloped in a 
heavy boat-cloak and hurried to the " Swan " 
tavern, kept by an old wretch named Dunder- 


head. A bargain was quickly struck, and 
Katrine hastily carried into a stone addition 
to the tavern. " -^- __ 

Soon after an orderly arrived at the house 
and summoned Dorsey before Sir Henry Clin- 
ton. The governor informed him that a com- 
plaint had been made that on the previous night 
Dorsey had carried off the daughter of a Dutch 
gentleman, from near Helle-gat. This Dorsey 
stoutly denied, and Sir Henry took his word 
for the time — being too busy to investigate 
the matter. 

Scarcely had this matter been arranged 
when old Van Twiller made his appearance. 
He stood up stoutly before the governor, and 
detailed the abduction of his daughter, adding 
that he had himself seen Lieutenant Dorsey 
carrying her off. The governor was astonished, 
but promised the father redress. 

This interview was cut short by the an- 
nouncement that Count Ballentine was without. 
He was an old friend of Sir Henry Clinton, 
and after the first greetings had passed he 
recounted how he had been captured by the 
"Ocean Queen," and that the redoubtable 
commander of that famous craft was his son 
and heir. 

While all these incidents were rapidly 
occurring, a whale-boat had skirted along 
the Brooklyn shore, passed Governor's Island, 
and was sailing into the city wharves. They 
were part of the crew of the "Ocean 


"A good ran we've made of it, Cam," said 
Tom, in a congratulafcory^tone ^"a first-rate 
ran, and, if we don't change our luck, we'll get 
to half-an-hour more." 

" Yes ; but " — and the Indian shook his 
head sadly as he spoke — " 'em look lady in her 
face before we start and she look bad — eyes 
green, face like mud." 

" Always so when we don't take her to 
sea," responded Tom. 

' ' Wasn't the ' Harpy ' a bit of good luck ? " 
growled one of the hands forward. 

" Yes ; but we're sure to lose her. Don't 
believe we'll ever get a Continental shin- 
plaster of prize money from her. But, hallo I 
what's that ? " 

This last exclamation of Tom's was caused 
by hearing a low cry, something that seemed 
between a moan and a shriek, which appeared 
to come from + he end of a pier which he was 
just passing. 

"Me see sumt'h white — like ghost!" said 
Cam, whose quick eye caught a sight of a 
figure, either sitting or lying on the end of the 

As the "-?oat arrived opposite to the pier, the 
figure which Cam had seen was observed to 
move, and a feeble voice came like a painful 
sigh across the water, — 

" Help — help, if ye are men. Oh, save 

These words fell on the ears of those in the 
boat, and Tom, regardless of all danger of dis- 
covery from shore, cried to his crew, " Lower 
down the sails there, for'ard— out oars. By 


the holy Mn=c<=, tiia+'o <* woman's voice, ana 
she's in distress ! " 

In an instant the boat was alongside the 



It was just at the grey of twilight that five men 
could be seen strolling carelessly up the road to- 
ward Mynheer Van Twiller's residence. We 
need scarcely say that they were the men sent 
by Dorsey to waylay poor Hans. 

Upon arriving in sight of the house, the 
coxswain halted his men and turned a little 
aside into the hazel thicket which bordered 
the road. 

" Hold on here, boys," said he, after placing 
them, ' ' while I take a cruise up to windward 
and see how the land lays. " 

The men obeyed, and the coxswain, who was 
apparently pretty near sober, walked cautiously 
toward the house. He had not been gone over 
eight or ten minutes, when he came hurrying 
back, his face expressive of anything but 

" Be ready, lads," he cried, " be ready; we 
have got three instead of one to deal with; but 
we may as well make sure of the one whom the 
lieutenant told us to take care of. Mark him. 
he's the biggest ; and if they don't all stop 
when I say the word, why, just pop away at 

The sound of horses' hoofs advancing down 
the rocky road could now be heard. As these 


came near, the coxswamTevellecTfiis pistol ^ind 

shouted, — 

" Heave to, there, you bloody lubbers ! — 

heave to, or I'll give you a broadside." 

" Who the devil are you, and what do you 

want ? " cried the foremost of them. 

" You've got a Dutchman in convoy. I want 

to have a bit of a yarn with him, so just let 

him come along with us, and you and your 
friend may go to the. devil." 

"Py tarn! " cried Hans, "py tam, dey is 
de same gang which peat me so in der 

"Ha! say you so?" cried Ballentine, who 
was the first speaker; "then this is some new 
plan of the villains. Upon them, Karl — come 
on Hans, don't hesitate," and the speaker 
drew a long rapier from its scabbard at 
his side, and dashed hia spurs deep into 
the horse's flank. The animal sprang 
forward toward the seamen, whose leader now 
shouted, — 

" Pick out th*» Dutchman in the middle — 
let him have it and then scatter ! " As he said 
this he discharged his pistol, which was fol- 
lowed by a general discharge from all his men; 
but the coxswain never again gave an order. 
The rapier of Ballentine passed completely 
through and through his body as he turned to 
seek shelter in the thicket. As he fell to the 
earth with a heavy groan, that groan was 
echoed by the unfortunate Hans, who had 
been t!u sole object of the seamen's fire, and 
whos-e horse now galloped down the road with 
out a rider. 


Ballentine returned and sprang from his 
horse. While he knelt down by the side of 
the unfortunate Hans to examine his hurt, he 
bade Karl guard against a surprise from any 
of the gang who might return. 

"Are you much hurt?" he asked, as he 
grasped the hand of poor Hans. 

The poor fellow only answered with a feeble 
groan; and Ballentine felt the warm blood 
streaming out upon his hand as he placed it 
against his breast. 

"Yes, I fear he is badly. Karl, we must 
take him back to the house and get surgical 
aid. This has been a foul deed. Lead your 
horse here — we must try and raise him to its 
back and then we can both support him in the 

As Karl obeyed and led his horse up, Bal- 
lentine saw that the wounded man was trying 
to speak, and he bent down his ^ead to catch 
his words. 

" To Sir Henry — to der gobernor ! " whis* 
pered the wounded man. " I must go — he tell 
me to come. To der gobernor's 1 " 

"It is dangerous for us to go in that vicinity, 
yet if, as I fear, Hans is dying, we had better 
bear him there, and let Sir Henry know how 
this foul murder has been done. " 

' ' Is der oder one tead ? " murmured Hans, 
alluding to the coxswain. 

" Cold — dead as a stone," said Karl, wh# 
had been examining the body. 

" Py tarn put I pe glad < " murmured Hans, 
" for it was his pullet that is id my preast ! 
and even the pain of his wounds seemed soma* 


what to be forgotten by Hans in the thought 
that he was revenged. 

Ballentine had some skill in wounds, and 
was not long in finding where Hans was hurt, 
and soon succeeded in partially stopping the 
flow of blood, but he saw no hope of saving the 
poor fellow's life. 

With the aid of Karl, the man was placed 
upon one of the horses, and Karl seated behind 
him to steady him. They rode as fast as 
possible, for both knew that if there was any 
hope of saving Hans it would be in giving him 
gpeedy surgical aid. 

They paused, however, lor a moment, in 
the suburbs of the city, to look at what 
appeared to be the body of a man stretched 
out in the road. 

■ ' What ? more murder ! " cried Ballentine, 
as his eye met this form. 

As he spoke the man stirred and half arose, 
at the same time muttered. — 

" I'm all right as a brick, coxswain, all right 
and tight. I say, hallo! what the devil are 
you doing a-horseback ? " 

" This must be one of the party," said Karl. 
" He is drunk, and perhaps we can gain some 
information of him. I will question him. Say, 
fellow, why didn'f you keep up with the 

"I did — 1 went ahead of 'em ; but they 
kept a-going round and round all the time, so 
wouldn't wait for 'em. But I say, shipmate, 
what's that you've got afore you ? " 

" A drunken friend of mine." replied Karl. 
Won't you take a ride back to town 


with my friend — your party have all gone 

"Did they catch the Dutchman?" aslced 
the sailor, who seemed yet stupefied with 

"Oh, yes; that's all right. Your lieu- 
tenant wanted him stopped, didn't he ? " 

"Who told you that?" said the sailor; 
and then added, — 

" If the rest of the boys have gone back I'll 
go too; so if your comrade there'll do as much 
for me as you have done for your friend, why, 
I'll take the chance and get aboard of his long- 
legged craft." 

This was the very thing which Ballentine- 
and Karl wanted, for they needed such a 
witness ; and soon the sailor was mounted 
before Ballentine, and the party resumed 
their route into the city. 

There we shall meet them in the next 
chapter, amid strange and stirring scenes. 


It was the hour of eight. The night, the. 
same eventful one which closed our last 
chapter. Sir Henry Clinton and Count Bal- 
lentine were still together, conversing of the- 
" good auld lang syne." But at this moment, 
while the iron tongue of the old town clock 
was telling the hour, one of the governor'* 
orderlies entered and interrupted the con- 

"An officer is below in the ante-room to 
■0e your lordship." 


" An officer ? " asked Sir Henry; and then he 
added, "Ah, yes, I remember. I had an 
engagement at this hour — I have an examina- 
tion to make. Come down with me, Count; 
you know much of human nature, and may 
aid my judgment." 

" I will attend you, Sir Henry," replied the 
Count, and both at once arose and repaired to 
the ante-room. 

Upon entering, Sir Henry bowed coldly to 
the young officer who stood before him, and 
remarked : 

" I am glad to see you so punctual, Mr 

"■Dor sty I " muttered the Count, as he partly 
turned away to hide his confusion. " This, 
then, is he ; but he will not know me ! " 

The Count was mistaken. Dorsey knew 
him the moment he entered, but with singular 
coolness forced down all appearance of con- 
fusion, and without apparently a glance at 
him, replied to Sir Henry. 

" It is ever my custom to be punctual, your 
Excellency, and it should be especially so 
now, when my honour and veracity are 
attacked. " 

"Eight, sir; very right. But your accusers 
seem laggard." 

"Perhaps, your lordship, they fear de- 
tection, and prefer not to meet one whom they 
have slandered," said the wily villain. 

At this moment an orderly entered and 
reported that Mynheer Dietrich Van Twiller 
was in waiting to see the governor. 

The cheek of the young officer paled as he 


heard Sir Henry give the order to admit him, 
and this confusion was in a moment noted by 
the governor, who said sternly, — 

"Now, sir, we will have this matter 

The next moment the father of Katrine 
entered, his face pale and haggard, his eyes 
sunken, his whole appearance indicative o£ 
the agony vi his heart. 

" I am here, Sir Henry," said he ; " here 
after searching in vain for my unhappy child. 
But before me I see one who knows where she 
is — I demand that he be forced to produce her." 

" Lieutenant Dorsey denies having seen 
her — denies having been within forty miles of 
your mansion at the hour when you say your 
daughter was torn from her home. " 

"He knows that he speaks falsely before 
God. Not only I but my trusty Hans are 
witnesses against him. I heard his scornful 
laugh as his boat dashed out into the stream, 
while my poor child was struggling in hia 
arms. There were six oarsmen and one office!' 
beside himself. How would I have known 
this had I not seen them ? " 

"True. That is a point which needs ex- 
planation on your part, sir," said Sir Henry to 

But at this moment; the orderly entered 
again and handed a paper to him. 

The latter read it, and then turning to the 
occupants of the room, he said, — 

" You must excuse me for a moment, gentle- 
men ; I will return and continue this in- 


In half-an-hour Sir Henry returned to the 

"We will now proceed to carry out this 
examination," he said, as again he seated 
himself at his table. " Where are your men, 
Mr Dorsey — where is your favourite officer, 
Lieutenant Walcott ? " 

"My men, sir, are scattered around the 
town, probably at some drinking houses ; 
Lieutenant Walcott can be found at the 
' Swan ' hotel, where he has taken quarters 
for the time." 

" Very well, sir, we shall see. I have sent 
for your coxswain ; meantime I have another 
witness on the opposite side ! " 

As the governor said this he stamped thrice 
upon the floor, and at the signal the door was 
thrown open, and two soldiers entered, bearing 
the ghastly form of poor Hans. 

When Dorsey saw him his cheek grew more 
pale than ever — he knew that his plans had 
partly miscarried, and he knew not how far 
the governor had discovered them. 

The governor saw that Dorsey was agitated, 
and in a stern tone cried, 

"Now, sir, will you deny that yon dyin.; 
man has been thus maltreated by you. 

'• My orCers 1 " echoed Dorsey, still deter- 
mined to save himself, if possible; " surely- 
general, you jest with me ! " 

" Sir, this is no jesting matter. I see th** 
you will force moie proof. Soldiers, bring is 
HtMt sbra&km tuaicr." 

A MMMafc b*d aot elapsed *r» tbt laOij 


whom Ballentine had brought to town was led 
into the room. 

"Fellow," cried Sir Henry, "tell me the 
truth, on the peril of your life. Where were 
you sent this evening when you started out of 
town ? " 

The sailor glanced at Sir Henry ; he knew 
his rank, and trembled as he replied, — 

" The coxswain told us, your honour, that 
we were bound up the road to cut out that 
bloody Dutchman, who has got his grave 
ticket ready, yonder." 

" Who gave the orders ? " 

" The coxswain said Lieutenant Dorsey 
did, your honour," replied the man, now con- 
siderably sobered. 

' ' Sir Henry, I protest against any such 
evidence. He is drunk," cried Dorsey. 

"Pe / trunk, you tarn tivil? " faintly cried 
Hans. And then he added, " Py tam, guber- 
nor, I'm kilt, put I will not die till Miss 
Katrine is safe, so help me, mine Got ! " 

"Be calm my good fellow," replied Sir 
Henry; "be calm— all shall be done to savs 
you ! " 

In the meantime Mynheer Van Tw3er ha5 
rushed to his honest servant's side, and, 
turning to Dorsey, he shouted, — 

" Is this another of your cursed works ■ 
Oh, villain ! where is my daughter ? " 

" Yes, where is she ? " added the general. 
" I am now satisfied of your guilt ; you* 
attempts to hide it are in vain." 

" Let him find her ! " replied the detected 
tiUms. "I have said I know nothing abcai 


her ; if my word is not believed, then let the 
disbelievers better themselves ! " 

" Consider yourself arrested ! " cried the 
governor. " I will have you court-martialled; 
aye, sir, and the most extreme punishment 
shall be inflicted upon you." 

The father of Katrine now advanced, and 
begged, in the most heart-touching terms, 
that Dorsey would say where his poor daughter 
could be found. 

' ' What can be done — what can be done for 
my poor girl ? " cried the distracted father. 

" I know not what can be done for lier, but 
for him I have close guard and a speedy trial. 
Soldiers, lay down that wounded man and 
take this officer under guard," cried the 

" Can I not visit my quarters and be 
there under guard ? " asked Dorsey, still pre- 
serving his forced calmness. 

The governor was about to deny the request 
when the father of Katrine stepped forward 
and whispered a word in his ear. This seemed 
to change his mind, for he said, — 

"Yes, sir; you may go to your hotel, but 
you will remain under charge of this guard." 

The villain bowed and left the apartment. 


The moment after Dorsey left the ante -room 
at General Clinton's quarters, the general 
ordered an officer whom he could safely trust 
|e follow his every motion, and to report the 


least look or sign that might lead to the dis- 
covery of the unhappy Katrine. 

Finding that Hans still lived, the surgeon 
advised that he should be removed to more 
comfortable quarters, and his master at once 
requested that he should be carried to the 
** y wan " hotel. This was done, and soon the 
landlord, Nicholas Dunderhead, was called 
upon to find a room for the poor fellow. 

' ' What ish der matter, Hans ? " said he, 
when he saw how badly his poor friend had 
been injured. 

" Te tarn English haf kilt me, dat ish all! " 
said Hans, feebly. 

' ' Kilt you ! for why ? " asked mine host of 
the "Swan." 

"All apout Miss Katrine, dat dey stole last 
night from der haus up at Helle-gat." 

"Miss Katrine!" echoed Dunderhead; 
" Mynheer Van Twiller's tochter ? " 

" Yaas; and be will give ten tousand tollar 
to find her." 

' ' Ten tousand tollar ! — Mynheer Van 
Twiller's tochter! Py tarn, maype it pe her 
in de pack room ! " said the old man, in low 
tones to himself. 

Hans, feeble as he was. had noticed that 
sparkle in the old man's eyes, and he seemed 
to feel that Dunderhead knew something of 
her whereabouts. Calling him closer, he 
said, — 

"Nicholas, if you knows where der gal 
ish, for der sake of der holy Got tell mo 
before I die ! You shall haf der ten tousand 


" Where is Mynheer Van Twiller ? " asked 
the other. 

" At der governor's. Shall I tell der soldier 
to go pring him here ? " asked Hans. 

"Yaas," muttered the old man; "yaas— 
ten tousand toll ar— yaas ! " 

Hans waited not for more, he bade the 
soldiers hurry to the governor's and bring him 
and Mynheer Van Twiller. 

And now, reader, we will turn to another 
part of our story which we left off rather 
abruptly. We allude to the discovery made 
by Long Tom and his boat's crew. 

As the boat touched the pier, the figure 
arose and staggered forward a step or two, 
then fell forward into his arms as he sprang to 
the side of the boat. 

"Saved! saved!" she murmured. "Oh, 
take me to my home." 

"Where is that, ma'am?" asked honest 
Tom ; but he got no answer to his question- 
she had fainted. 

"By thunder, but this is a scrape!" 
muttered Tom. 

" Better shove off, eh ? " asked Cam " Soger- 
man come down here directly and look hard at 

' ' Yes, that's true ; shove off into the stream, 
lads. But what the devil to do with this poor 
gal is more than I know." 

"Why not take her up along with us?" 
asked one of the crew. 

"Got no other choice, I reckon," replied 
Tom. " Hand us a little of that water from the 
breaker," he cried to one of the crew, as he 


raised her head gently. One of the men then 
handed him a tin cup of water, which he raised 
carefully to her lips, and managed to force 
down a few drops. 

She sighed, and gave signs of returning con- 
sciousness, and now Tom seemed to feel a little 
more easy. 

We will now return to the " Swan " and 
witness a rather stirring scene there. 

When General Clinton and Mynheer Van. 
Twiller received the message of Hans, they at 
once hurried to the hotel. 

' ' Where is Nicholas Dunderhead ? — where 
is he ? Can he tell me where my poor Katrine 
is ? " cried her father, as he rushed into the 

"Ten tousand tollar?" asked Nicholas, 
very quietly. 

"Yes, gladly, so that she is restored to 
me," replied the father. 

" Wall, den, I tou't know for sure were she 
is, or if der one pe her, put we shall see py 
and py. " 

" Be hasty, then, and dare not to trifle with 
me," cried the father. 

"Come along, Mynheer Van Twiller ; come 
along, sheneral — I dink I can find her. " 

"Lead the prisoner along too," said Sir 

The party started toward the back wing, 
amid a general murmur of voices and stamping 
of feet. The noise seemed to have disturbed 
some of the occupants of the inn, for two doors 
that lead out on the back piazza were opened 
and from one room emerged hastily two persona 


—from the other two more. The two first the 
governor recognised as Mr Smith and his 
brother, who had brought poor Hans to his 
quarters — the two others, Count Ballentine 
and his servant. 

"What is the matter? What does all this 
bustle mean ? " asked the Count, as he strode 
forward to the side of Sir Henry. 

" Follow us and see — follow us Mr Smith," 
replied the governor ; and then, while several 
servants came with lights, the entire party 
hastened to the narrow passage in the back 
wing, where they stopped at the only door in 
the passage. 

" The key, sir— the key ! " cried Sir Henry, 
pointing to the door, as he turned around 
sternly to Dorsey. 

"Find it yourself — I have no key! " said 
the detected and now desperate villain. 

"Burst the door — this delay is death!" 
cried a voice from their midst, and the one 
disguised as Smith sprung forward, followed 
by his young companion, and both threw 
themselves against the heavy oaken frame. 
But they scarcely *hook it — it yielded not an 

" Go bring a beam —anything to force an 
entrance ! " cried Sir Henry to his attendants. 

While they hurried to obey this order, a 
hurried glance was exchanged between Bicard 
and Dorsey. ^ 

In a moment the servants returned with 
axes, and soon the door was opened. Then the 
whole party rushed into the room, but to their 
astonishment it was unoccupied. 


"Villain, where is she?" cried Sir Henry 
to Dorsey ; but the look of the latter was as 
full of astonishment as his own. 

"Aye, tell us where she is, vile wretch; 
Speak, or I will slay you where you stand 
shouted Hunt Ballentine, springing forward 
and confronting Dorsey. 

"Stop, young sir — raise not your Hand 
against your brother ! " cried Bicard, in a cold 
tone of sarcasm. 

"My brother!— ha, the rebel!'' echoed 
Dorsey", now comprehending Bicard's former 

" Hunt, my son ! " groaned the Count, " why 
are you here ? " 

"To save her I love, or perish in the 
attempt ! " cried Ballentine. 

"Ah, poor, deluded boy, this is a sad hour 
for thee and thine," sighed the governor. ''I 
have a painful course before me, but it must 
be followed. You are a prisoner. " 

"Aye, and that young rebel by his side, 
Karl Van Twiller, that old man's son, and the 
brother of the paltry girl you've made so much 
ado about," cried Dorsey. 

" Is this true ? serves he with the rebels?" 
asked the governor of the father. 

But Karl stepped forward and answered, — 

"I serve America, sir, and I fight for her 

The governor again sighed as he turned to 
the officer who was with him and said, — 

" Let these two young men be guarded. 
We have no choice but to treat and try them 
as spies." 


The cheek of young Ballentine reddened as 
he heard this word, and he responded, — 

" I came not here, Sir Henry Clinton, as a 

spy — I came to rescue my betrothed from yon 

ruthless villain's hands — but now, though I am 

• prisoner, 1 pray you not to defer searching 

&r her." 

"Don't trouble yourself, brother," said 
Doi^ey, with a devilish sneer ; ' I've no doubt 
but she's doing well." 

" How is this ? That Dorsey, surely, is no 
eon of thine ?" asked Sir Henry of the Count. 

' ' Ask me no* now - anon I will explain all, " 
replied the Couut, and hurried from the 

"Strange, as it is unfortunate," muttered 
the governor; then, turning to Dorsey, he 
asked, — 

"Once more, sir, will you say where this 
old man's daughter is ? " 

" That's more than I know," responded the 

" This mystery must and shall be ferretted 
out ! " cried Sir Henry ; then, turning to the 
unhappy father of Katrine, he added, " remain 
with me, sir ; every nook, den, and house in 
the city shall undergo a search. If she be 
alive she shall be found." 


The boat of the " Ocean Queen," with Long 
Tom and his new-found prize, turned into 
Helle-ga* cove ; and as it did so, the lady, who 


had now recovered as to sit tip, gazed at the 
rocks, and trees, and the house, the outlines- 
of which could be dimly seen in the darkness, 
and in feeble, but joyful tones, cried, — ■ 

" I see my own home before me— this is my 
father's house." 

" Her father's house," muttered Tom. 
" Why, lady, sure and you must know our 
skipper? Captain Ballentine's the name he 
hails by." 

" Ballentine — my own Hunt ? Yes." 

"Ble&s your starry toplights, why didn't 
you say so before ? " 

" I knew you not." 

By this time the boat had reached the 
landing, and Katrine, attended by the honest 
old coxswain, sprang on shore and hurried to 
the house. 

Here she was only met by a group of terrified 
attendants, who told her that they knew her 
father, and Karl, and the captain all must be 

" What shall I do ? " moaned poor Katrine. 

" Blast my eyes if I know ! " said old Tom, 
perfectly at a stand — then an idea seeming tc- 
strike him, he added, " If he's got away from 
'em alive, he'll make straight for the barkie — 
if we go aboard we may find him, but if the 
red-coats have been here it's no use for us to 

" Be it as you will — anything to place me by 
his side if he yet lives — anything but to fall 
into the hands from which I have but just 
escaped." And the two returned to the 


"I hope it'll blow up fresh, we've little 
time enough to get clear of the shipping in the 
narrows afore day breaks," said Tom, as he 
trimmed his sheets and filled away- " 1 wish 
to Moses it would keep dark till noon to- 

Katrine, though relieved from the first and 
most imminent peril, was now in a miserable 
state of suspense regarding the fate of her 
lover. Little did she dream that at the very 
hour when her boat scudded past the old stone 
prison which stood upon Whitehall point, that 
her lover and her brother were both within its 

When Dorsey had left Katrine with the 
terrible threat of returning at ten o'clock, she 
had, as the reader will remember, grasped the 
knife, with the intention of taking the life 
which she thought she could not preserve with- 
out dishonour. When she raised the deadly 
weapon above her quivering bosom, and raised 
her eyes to take a last glance at the stars 
which shone down through the single window 
in her room, one hope, like a ray from one of 
those stars, seemed to have entered her bosom. 

"If I can but reach it I can pass," she said; 
and she hastened to move an old chest of 
drawers which stood near, a little closer to 
the window. 

Taking the long silken scarf from her neck, 
she doubled it round the centre bar, then, 
grasping the scarf, she lowered herself down 
to the ground. 

Trembling with fear and excitement, sixe 
faurrifid forth from the dark and narrow 


alley, and rushed down to the end of 
the pier, falling to the earth exhausted and 

While lying in this miserable state, she 
saw the white sails of a boat loom up in the 
darkness beyond her, and uttered the feeble 
cry which was first heard by honest Tom and 
his boat's crew. 

Sir Henry Clinton, by an artful trick, dis- 
covers that Dorsey was really the son of 
Ricard, who had imposed him upon his un- 
suspicious master as being the latter's off- 

Meanwhile Karl and Captain Ballentin© 
were under arrest as spies. 

Sir Henry Clinton pitied sincerely his friend 
Count Ballentine, and also regretted that the 
captain of the " Ocean Queen " and his lieu- 
tenant, Karl, had rushed into the lion's mouth 
in order to find Katrine. 

Sir Henry, therefore, wilfully closed his 
eyes to a plot which he learned was contem- 
plated to rescue the prisoners. 

Ricard and his wife (the mother of Dorsey) 
had joined Cam and Long Tom in an attempt 
to free Hunt Ballentine, Karl, and Dorsey 
from prison. 

It needs not to detail all the incidents. 
Suffice it that the prisoners were apprised of 
the hour and were ready. 

Just as the three prisoners succeeded in 
lowering themselves by means of a rope thrown 
up to them by Long Tom, the sentinel saw 


them and fired. His ball found the heart of 
Dorsey, who fell mortally wounded. 

The others followed Long Tom toward the 
3pot where their boat awaited them. 

Down along the pier they rushed. Soon 
bhey were by the spile to which the boat was 
moored. As they sprang in Hunt cried to 
Tom to shove off, and at the same time seized 
an oar himself. Karl and Cam followed his 
example, and in another moment four bending 
aars were sending the boat out upon the 
stormy water, quivering as she met the heavy 
waves which almost hid her in their spray. 
They had scarcely cleared the end of the pier 
when the guard were upon it, and ere they 
were half a musket-shot distant, the officer in 
command shouted, — 

'' Stop, you rebels ! come back, or I will 
Eire upon you ! " 

" Stoop low, men! — crouch low in the boat, 
Eor they will fire \" 

A rattling volley of musketry from the 
shore told that the officer had kept his threat. 
A. groan from poor Tom was heard ; and as the 
rest raised to their oars, he let go his and then 
grasped the thwart of the boat, to sustain 
himself in his seat. 

"By heavens, Tom, you are shot! " cried 
His captain, in a tone of deep anxiety. 

"Never mind me, cap'nS See, them art 
sogers are heaving up signals for the ships 
below to cut us off! You'd better up sails and 
get out of this ; they'll sarve you worse than 
they have me." 

"By heavens! the noble fellow sneak* 


true! Karl, take the tiller — Cam, clear away 
those two lug sails and reef them, quick ! " 

Hunt then raised the bleeding and gallant 
old tar, and carried him to the after part of 
the boat", where be laid him upon his cloak. 

" Poor Tom, this is too hard," he groaned. 
" I must try and bandage your wounds." 

" It's no use, cap'n. I've been shot afore, 
and I knows what it is. I shall only live to 
see you safe. I know'd it afore I left the ship; 
for our lady's face was dark and muddy." 

" I can explain all. Her eyes are made of 
looking-glass, slightly coloured — her face is so 
polished as to reflect colours — therefore, when 
in blue water they would look blue, in the 
muddy waters of the harbour they would look 
like the water ! " 

" Well, it's no matter, yer honour — it's all 
over with me now. Raise me up, cap'n — raise 
me up, and let me take a look round. My 
eye-sight, like the flame of a taller dip, may 
be all the brighter afore it goes out ! There 
they are, the bloody sharks, ahead on the 
starboard bow ! — a whole fleet of boats ! " 

For a moment even his bold heart felt cold, 
and his cheek grew pale. It was too late to 
try another course. He had but three men, 
counting himself, to oppose he knew not how 
many. But he was not one to despair. 

"Keep the boat steady on her course!" 
■aid he to Karl ; and then he carefully ex- 
amined the arms which Tom had provided. 

It was already evident that the enemy saw 
them, for the boats were spread out in a line 
through which they must pass or be taken. 


As Tom gazed uyoii them a singular I</ok of 
firm determination settled on his pale face. 

"Cap'n," said he, "just stuff your hand- 
kerchief or something into this hole in my 
breast to keep the blood in a little longer. I 
only want to live twenty minutes more '. " 

Without knowing why Tom wished it, 
Hunt obeyed his request, and stanched as he 
best could, the gushing blood, when Tom 
continued, — 

" I mean this, cap'n; you knows, as well as 
I does, that I can't live an hour, but I'm 
Btrong enough to hold that tiller and steer her 
through amongst them are boats, while you 
three lay down in the bottom, where they 
can't hit you. If they carry away the masts, 
why, then we'll all go together — if they don't 
you are saved, and it'll be some joy to me to 
know that when I slip my wind." 

Hunt objected. Karl and Cam each volun- 
teered for the dangerous post. But Tom 
would not be put aside ; and he forced them 
to secure him to the seat by lashings, so that 
he could not be moved from his perilous post. 

Tom steered down with an unwavering 
hand, heading for a narrow opening between 
two of the largest boats, and from both of 
these he was hailed as he came near. 

"Heave tc, with your boat— heave to! " 

Tom made no reply. 

" Heave to, you infernal rebels! — heave to, 
or we'll fire into you ! " 

Steadily swept on the boat, and Tom spoke 
not ; and now he was directly between the 
two, while others were pulling rapidly in to 


intercept him. Again Tom was hailed, again 
he heard the threat of firing, but as the boat's 
bow was nearly clear of them and the gale 
freshened, he laughed out a scornful reply, — 

"Fire, you bloody fools! Burn your 
powder, you can't hurt me ! " 

"Fire!" cried the enraged officers, and, as 
his boat got out of range of the others, so that 
they could fire without doing any harm to 
their own friends, they opened a terrific volley 
upon him. 

When the smoke cleared away, to their 
surprise and astonishment the helmsman sat 
steady and erect as ever; he seemed to have 
gone untouched through that terrible shower, 
and now his boat was dashing off at a speed 
which rendered their pursuit useless, still 
holding on her course. 

But they did not see that the head of poor 
Tom had dropped upon his breast; they did 
not know that his whole body was riddled with 
their balls. 

He had got the helm set just to the weather- 
gage, which it would carry with the sails 
trimmed as they were ; and though his arm 
was stiff with the ice of death, he never 
slacked his hold, 

The rest of the crew of the boat sprang to 
their feet after the dreadful line of fire had 
been passed ; but poor Tom spoke no more. 
He had saved them. 

Ere noon on that day, Sunt BaCentine 
was on his vessel's deck, his betrothed was 
once more in his arms, and the " Magio 
Figure-Head " was turned to sea for a cruise. 


which ended equally as fortunate as any h© 
had previously undertaken. 

So it continued until the end of the war, 
when Captain Ballentine retired with his 
beautiful Katrine to enjoy the fruits of his 
love of liberty and independence. 

His father, the Count, dying, and entirely 
reconciled to his sou, he ieft him hia vast 
estates in England. 

The Captain, now Count Ballentine, re- 
sided on them to the end of his days, except 
•ccasionally visiting his brother-in-law, Karl, 
who had returned to his father, and at the 
demise of the latter inherited all his wealth, 
with the exception of a good jointure to 


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